Time and Again
by Squeek1504
Summary: Neville Longbottom has lost his job, his wife, and his drive to do anything about it when he meets the only woman who can turn his life around. He agrees to let Pansy help him get back on his own two feet; he just hopes he won't fall for her. NLPP
1. Step One: Quit your Job

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Author's Note: Hey everyone! I really hope I can stick this story out to the end, as I'm a huge fan of NLPP and as a fan, I decided to write my own to share with all of you! I owe a my firstborn to my beta, Wonderfall, whose stories you should go read. No seriously.

**Please review! I'd love to hear what everyone has to say and what you think of my story. Flames are welcome, for we use them to toast marshmallows! Also, there will be smut eventually but I'll be sure to warn you in advance. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters I've kidna- borrowed for my story.**

**Chapter One: Step One: Quit your Job**

* * *

Neville Longbottom was not known for his temper. In fact, there were only three instances in which he could ever remember losing it. The first was when he had been told that the infamous Bellatrix LeStrange had escaped from Azkaban. The second was on the day of his graduation from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; when his grandmother had died, she had left everything she owned to Neville, but due to "legal complications" received next to nothing and had not been told until said day. The third instance being right now, standing in the present Headmaster's office in Hogwarts.

"What," he spoke through gritted teeth, "am I supposed to do if I don't have this job, Headmaster?"

Tamberlin Farworthing, current Headmaster of the school, was leaning back in his chair with one of those annoying smirks smeared across his face. "I'm sorry Longbottom..." like hell you are, you slimy git, "but due to our current financial restrictions..." bullshit, "I'm afraid I just can't keep you on as an employee." Both of the men knew why this was happening, though Farworthing would never admit it out loud.

Neville was being fired simply because of his refusal to jump whenever the bastard asked. The man leaned over his desk, a self satisfied gleam in his eye and drawled some backhanded comment about Neville's "successful career as an Herbology expert--" when spots of white flashed across his vision. In one fluid movement, he reached out and almost crushed the bug of a man underneath the huge ornate desk when he flipped it over. Farworthing let out a terrified squeal and scrambled out of the way while papers and desk ornaments rained down.

Neville simply stood in silence for a moment, his back turned to the cowering figure in the corner. Quietly, he said, "I quit," and left, shutting the heavy door a little harder than necessary. An almost cruel smile distorted his features when he heard the soft sound of whimpering and sobbing from the man still inside the office. He gave a resigned sigh and headed towards his office to collect his things.

_Just great, what am I going to tell my wife?_ "Hi honey! Bet you're surprised to see me home so early! Well, there's a perfectly good reason for it; I nearly killed the Headmaster with his own desk! Yep, aren't you glad we spent almost all of the money we had on this dump that hardly turns enough profit to keep it maintained?" Neville sighed and shifted the hefty box on his hip. He took his a final glance back towards the school and stepped off school grounds. And with a loud crack he disapparated.

* * *

The Leaky Cauldron was dirty again, looking neglected and poorly lit as usual. Ever since Hannah and Neville had bought the place, they'd figured out that it was impossible to keep clean. Lately however, it had been dirtier than usual due to the ever increasing arguments over absolutely nothing! Nothing! He cringed, remembering the last fight they'd had—then shook his head and started up the stairs. He cursed loudly as his foot went through the third step on the way up, scratching up his ankle. His day was already bad enough as it was, he thought, then growled in frustration as he heard the loud moaning and banging coming from one of the guest rooms upstairs. Apparently, the gods weren't going to give him a break today.

When he reached the landing, he dropped the box he was carrying. His concern for the safety of the contents of his box evaporated; he didn't even note the tinkling sound of breaking glass as something was crushed in the bottom of his box. The door to the first room on the landing was swung wide open and he could see the long blonde braided hair of his wife swinging back and forth as she rode a stranger. Hard. They hadn't even noticed Neville dropping his box or even when he very nearly walked to the foot of the bed.

_Say something witty_, he thought, _say something and then just leave. _Unfortunately, as he opened his mouth to speak, the headboard banging against the wall dislodged a large, and rather heavy, piece of the ceiling that promptly fell on top of Neville's head.

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!" he yelled, hands inspecting his head and eyes briefly watering. Hannah turned and screamed, falling off of the man while clutching the sheet to her exposed body and simultaneously revealing her lover—Colin Creevey, who was also making surprised and horrified noises. Neville felt his heart nearly drop into his stomach. His wife and his best mate... this was like one of those terrible shows his Gran used to watch, where witches posed as disgruntled housewives and had affairs with their husband's brothers or something. The utter betrayal of it rocked him to the very core and he felt the unfamiliar flash of adrenaline-powered rage coursing through his limbs.

"N-Neville! Darling! It isn't what it..." He raised one hand for silence and pinched the bridge of his nose with the other, his body adopting and exhausted posture.

"Hannah," he said tersely, "I swear, if you finish that sentence, I'm not going to be responsible for my actions."

Colin gave a terrified "meep" and scrambled to get father away from his friend's naked wife, practically climbing on top of the headboard. He glowered at the both of them, his silence saying more than he could with words. Colin, misunderstanding Neville's silence for a form of calm acceptance, spoke up.

"Oh," his voice cracked, "I should have known Hannah and I should have stopped this right when it started." A nervous laugh, Hannah shot a desperate look towards her lover, begging him to shut his trap. "See, she told me that you two were, well, separated..."

"Colin, please..." Hannah's voice was strained and terrified, but Creevey didn't notice. "...three months ago, ha ha ha." Neville couldn't see his expression, but he gauged it by the wash of fear and the abrupt end of his choked laughter that came over the man lying in the bed. The next minute, his fist was in the wall, small flecks of the cheap plaster littering his wrist and floor.

He couldn't remember punching the wall, but that's what must have happened. Colin had whispered some meek sounding apology and ran from the room, and Hannah had started crying softly, her face in her hands.

"I'm leaving," he said quietly. She refused to look at him so he simply walked outside of the room and waved his wand, disappearing to the only place he could think of.

* * *

The platform nine-and-three-quarters at King's Crossing was very nearly empty, as he had expected it would be. The train was mainly used only by Hogwarts students, but there were a few members of the wizarding world who preferred to travel by locomotive.

He walked to a large mesh-wire bench and sat, holding his head as he rested his elbows on his knees. Neville sat there being silently watched by a witch with a rather over-sized nose until he started to feel uncomfortable, but thankfully she moved away to leave him in his quiet brooding. _Weirdoes_, he thought.

Neville was unaware of another witch, however. This witch was standing at a minor distance, observing him wordlessly. The problem was, this witch had not seen Neville for two years time. She was hesitant to approach him when he seemed so upset, but couldn't hold back forever.

"Neville?" She walked slowly towards him and spoke softly. Neville stopped staring at his shoes and glanced in the direction the voice called from; then he smiled.

"Ginny?" Her jaw dropped when their eyes met and she got a good look at him; Neville chuckled softly. He'd grown almost a whole foot and a half after his graduation, lost almost all of his boyish chubbiness, and now pretty much towered over his friend. She took jogging steps towards him.

"Oh my god, Nevvy! How are you? It's been ages!" She threw her things down and sat next to him on his bench, smacking him playfully in the arm. He tried to smile for her, make her think everything was alright, but it obviously didn't work. Ginny saw something in his expression and it showed just as plainly on her face as it must have on his.

"Aw jeeze, love," her mouth was pulled down into a sad frown, "You look knackered." He swallowed hard and felt his eyes stinging again. He quickly wondered if there was a spell to get rid of his damned tear ducts.

Ginny was one of his best friends, his very best friend at that moment; she didn't ask him what was wrong. She didn't tell him he should cheer up. Instead, she sat there for a moment, her mouth set in a determined line; then slapped him a little gruffly on his back and stood. Gathering her coat and her purse, she placed a warm hand on his arm and squeezed gently.

"Come on," she set a warm smile on her face, "we're going to go get pissed." He laughed a little and tried to smile back. Then stood up and left the station to go get drunk off his ass. Well, at least his day was starting to look up.

* * *

They got to a little bar that he had never heard of, the Blue Cockerel, which was crowded and filled with various witches and wizards that for some reason were all wearing muggle party hats and singing horribly. A wizard near the entrance swiveled suddenly to face the young man, eyeing at him suspiciously and sloshing his drink all over the floor in front of Neville, who jumped back to avoid the liquid.

"You," he slurred, "you goin' back there for the party?" The paper cone slid a little towards the side of the wizard's face. He heard Ginny stifle a giggle behind him.

"Uh, yeah! Yeah, we're here for the party," he looked over his shoulder at the red head and shrugged. She covered her mouth with her hand to quiet another laugh.

"Shokay, that's fine." He smiled jovially at them and waved them through.

Apparently, a wizard named Broxley was celebrating his twenty-seventh birthday and it was an open bar that night. Luckily though, the doorman was the intoxicated and agreeable wizard who had let them pass by. So Ginny and Neville, masquerading as party guests- in which they were not alone, they soon discovered- proceeded to toss back drinks and laugh with the other "guests" that they had found. During the course of the night, he'd wound up mournfully telling his tale to anyone who would listen.

"You know what I think," a pretty blue-haired witch leaned too far forward and almost fell off of her chair, "I think that wife of yours is a total bitch. I mean honestly I'm surprised you didn't jinx the ever living hell out of her." She gave a drunken giggle, and Neville couldn't help but laugh with her even though it was partially due to the near half a bottle of Firewhiskey he'd drank playing "Toad chasers." Ginny, who was not nearly as intoxicated as her poor friend, was keeping a close eye on him—she pulled him away from the drunken girl as Neville had suddenly leaned in to kiss her.

"Oi, what's your problem Gin?" He turned on her, an angry frown across his face. She tried to keep from snapping back at him and instead led him outside. He grabbed the half-empty bottle of alcohol as she dragged him out into the alley.

"Look, Nev," she helped steady him, "it's late and you're incredibly drunk; I think it's time for you to head... with me to the Burrow." she stopped herself from saying "home" and quickly replaced it. Neville whined and suddenly dropped the bottle on a pile of snow. He looked at Ginny, his eyes glazed and quickly pinned her against the wall.

"I'd rather go home with _you_," he said, slurring his words together. Ginny slapped him soundly across the face and laughed out loud. He giggled and fell on his rump. "Yes, I'm drunk, take me home please now." She helped him to his feet and walked with him for a while in the cold.

He looked over slyly at her a few minutes before she would apparate somewhere for him to sleep and said, "But you know, that witch back there had really nice tits." She punched him in the arm again and they vanished.

* * *

**I'm secretly in love with an alligator named Frances.**

**Okay! That's the end of Chapter One. I'll update the second part as soon as I finish! ~squeek**


	2. Step Two: Meet a Pretty Woman

**Author's Note: Hey all! So far so good; I can't believe how many hits this story has already gotten with only one chapter up! Wow, Neville and Pansy must be a more popular pairing than I thought. Anyways, here's chapter two! I'll try to start work on chapter 3 as soon as I can, provided I don't drown myself in eggnog.**

**Chapter 2: Step 2: Meet a pretty woman.**

* * *

"You're never going to guess what I dreamed about last night." A soft pillow slapped his face, earning a muffled groan from Neville as he buried his face farther into the corner of the fabric of Ginny's couch. She'd brought him back to his flat after a long night of drinking to prevent him from sleeping with any random witch who would have him. She couldn't take him to her parent's house because he was entirely too drunk and entirely too loud. Somehow, she doubted they would have thanked her for leaving a raving and crying wizard in their living room at near to four in the morning.

"Mhhhn," he replied, hiding from the light.

"Yeah, it was about you," she flopped down into a chair opposite the couch, a pint of ice cream in her hand and a grin spread lazily across her face. He mumbled some more into the couch, expressing a lack of interest. "See, I was a circus clown who had run away because I also worked for the government as a double agent and you were a stripper."

Neville pulled his face out of the corner it had previously been entrenched in and squinted wearily at the redhead. She wiggled her eyebrows at him and cackled when he chucked the assailing pillow at her, missing by a good two feet. At his muffled complaints, she just laughed harder.

"Hangovers are a bitch, huh?" Neville gave a final groan in response and made a fair attempt to roll over onto his back, instead he failing and rolling off onto the floor with a loud thud. "So're concussions! So very graceful in the mornings, aren't we, Nev?"

"Ugh," he replied. "Stop being a smartarse and get me a hangover potion like a good little witch." She stepped on him on her way to the kitchen, emitting an "oogh" and glaring after her. "Nice flat you've got," he called to her as he sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

She walked past, handing him a mug and grunting her thanks past the spoon in her mouth. Ginny swallowed and sat back down in the chair a few feet away, suddenly taking on the patented "Ginny Weasley Serious-Business" look that made Neville swallow, feeling apprehensive. "Something on your mind, Gin?" he nervously laughed.

"Oh no you don't, Longbottom. You're going to tell me what happened exactly," her mouth set in a determined line. He was surprised and felt his mouth open in protest, but she shot him the "serious-business" look again and he sighed resignedly.

"I told you last night," he ran a hand through his hair, "along with pretty much everyone else in that pub." In reply, he received another patented Ginny Weasley look; the withering glare she'd inherited from her mother. He quickly drained the potion, almost gagging on its bitter taste. She hadn't put any honey in it.

"That's not the same, and you know it," she huffed, ignoring the look that had passed over his face. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat of the couch. Then, without lifting his head or even moving from the spot, he told Ginny everything. He told her how Hannah and he had drifted apart, how he was lucky enough not to be arrested after he quit his job, and how the world seemed dead set against him. He told her how bad the betrayal had hurt him; he even told her how he had almost been expecting it. And when it was done, the only thing she did was nod and offer Neville the last bite of her ice cream which she stuffed into her mouth when he shook his head no.

"So," Ginny said, scraping her spoon vigorously against the bottom of the pint, "what're you going to do now?" He raised an eyebrow at her from his sitting place back on the sofa.

"Uh..." he drew a blank then gave her a sheepish look and shrugged to which Ginny took her turn to raise an eyebrow. She shook her head and walked quickly into a back room.

"After I change into some better clothes," she called, "we're going to go get you a job." He sat there almost stupefied, blinking.

"Thanks, Gin..." She walked out in an expensive looking set of women's robes, all smiles.

"Don't thank me yet," Ginny said ominously, "I don't even know if I _can_ get you a job." His stomach sank with the familiar feeling of apprehension. He didn't think he could work for a professional Quidditch team, or even if that was what she had in mind. He took a shaky breath and tried to steady himself.

"Still," he tried to give her a confident smile, "thank you." She blinked and then gave him a quick hug, patting him roughly on the back.

* * *

Pansy Parkinson frowned at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was graced with a beauty that came with maturity. She'd been an ugly child, but now her previously upturned nose was now 'buttonish', her once overly large pale blue eyes were now considered to be 'doe-like' which gave her a misleading appearance of innocence, and her strong jaw had narrowed into a heart shaped face. That wasn't why she was frowning and grousing about in front of her bathroom mirror though.

No, she was upset because she had to leave soon and several things about her current appearance bothered her. For one, the sunlight was too bright and it was making her dark colored hair look lighter than it should; her hair was nearly black indoors, but the dreaded orb brought to light more of her brown and almost light red highlights that she'd tried so desperately to rid herself of.

Secondly, the tan she'd worked so hard to acquire naturally during the warm summer (tanning spells wore off too quickly and made her look disgustingly orange) was nearly gone completely, her skin taking on its usual pale gleam. She preferred to be a little tanner now, since it helped to remind her peers that she was not the same shallow creature she had been at Hogwarts.

Okay, well she was a little superficial, she admitted quietly to herself, but there was absolutely nothing wrong with it. I mean, a girl deserves to treat herself every once in a while. Sighing, she pushed herself away from the bathroom mirror and ran her fingers through her long locks.

Time to get to work; she had a meeting with someone in fifteen minutes and couldn't very well show up naked. A devilish smile flitted briefly across her features. Well, she _could_, but why give those old codgers something like that? Dressing herself quickly in a flattering set of purple and black robes, she apparated to the meeting.

One of the less perverted old men in charge of "helping" Pansy manage her late father's company (everyone who mattered knew that she had barely let another person so much as glance at her company records since dear old daddy's departure, instead doing everything herself in a most impressive way), Mr. Tanglishire, was wheezing on about the current string of expenses that "the wonderful Miss Parkinson" had allowed them to take part in were all completely necessary and that the end result was quickly turning a profit; it was some sort of side project for a witch maternity clothes line.

The meeting drawled on and on, one old man after another taking their own turn to stand up and receive a pat on the head then to have Pansy tell them how good a job they were doing. In short, Pansy was bored and wished something interesting would happen so she could excuse herself and leave. The company was fine as always and turning a marginally bigger profit than last quarter, yadda yadda yadda. She'd just started to drift off to sleep when a rather large owl slammed noisily into one of the ornate windows, flapping and hooting wildly. More than one of the board members jumped back with a surprised yelp, momentarily making her wonder if one of them would have a heart attack. She cringed at the thought of mouth to mouth.

Opening the window, the bird waddled on top of the long table and ruffled its feathers at her. Taking the letter and glancing at it, a smile creeping across her face, she turned her eyes to the outraged old men.

"My apologies, gentlemen," she said coolly, "but there seems to be an urgent matter with one of my star Quidditch players I must attend to." At their cries of dissent, she raised a hand in the air and cooed a few claming words about how she was sure they would all continue making the Parkinson name greater and hoped for their success in gaining profit. Then she gathered her things and left quickly. _Thank god for Ginny Weasley,_ she thought, the smile quickly returning.

* * *

The small café was less crowded than usual, which Neville was thankful for. A few scattered witches and wizards sat at tables like the one Ginny was sitting with him at, constantly kicking him in his shins to get him to stop fidgeting. She wouldn't tell him who they were meeting or how she knew said person would be there soon. Her constant corrections, "sit up straight, stop pulling on your sleeves, don't slouch," nearly made him laugh; they reminded him of Mrs. Weasley too much, but if he told Ginny that she'd probably aim higher than his shin the next time she kicked at him.

They sat there, sipping on hot pumpkin coffee, which despite his protests had turned out to be pretty good, and waited. Whenever he would ask Ginny who it was they were supposedly waiting for, she would just grin and tell him to wait and see.

After about twenty minutes, though she stood up straighter and looked pointedly at a tallish witch with long dark colored curls with icy blue eyes smiled widely and started walking towards the table. She was wearing tall heeled black leather boots that hugged her calves, a flattering black skirt that barely came above her knees and a deep purple top that was cut to show only a professional amount of cleavage, and a black robe embroidered with purple vines and roses that clung wonderfully to her narrow waist. Neville felt he was catching faeries, so he shut his mouth abruptly, nearly biting his tongue.

Ginny stood, smiling widely, and warmly embraced the gorgeous creature, shocking Neville. For a moment, he could have sworn it was an illusion. When his friend cleared her throat abruptly, he shook his head to clear his mind and stood to introduce himself. He'd missed the woman's name when Ginny had greeted her because, Neville flushed at the realization, he had been too busy staring at her. She was only about a foot shorter than he was, but then again, she was wearing those alluring boots. He took her hand and tried to give her a charming smile.

"Good afternoon," thank god his voice didn't break. The beautiful woman smiled indulgently, waiting for him to continue. "I'm Ginerva's close friend, Neville Longbottom." Bright blue eyes blinked owlishly at him, then startled him when she broke into laughter. Ginny didn't help any when he looked to her; she was nearly doubled over herself. "W-what'd I say?"

"Neville," Ginny said between broken giggles, "weren't you listening? This is Pansy!" _Oh_, he thought, _that makes-_

"Wait, WHAT?" He yelled suddenly, causing the wizard behind the counter to give him a warning glance. He smiled sheepishly and decided it would be best to sit down now. Pansy smiled slyly and joined him, sitting directly across from Neville, and Ginny seated herself next to her boss.

"Neville," her voice was so different, he had a hard time listening. Her lips were different too; hell, everything was different about her! She was pretty- no, scratch that, she was downright sexy. She had legs that went down for miles, her hair wasn't being cut too short or altered to make it "acceptable," she was wearing clothes that fit her figure, and her makeup wasn't overly heavy... she really _was_ sexy. He had trouble averting his eyes as she leaned over the table and her smooth, white breasts strained against her- _oh shit, she had been talking all this time and I haven't been listening. Okay, just play it cool..._

"So what do you think?" Ginny flashed him an excited smile and gave him a thumbs-up while Pansy was still leaned over the table, watching him intently and waiting for an answer. _Uhhh..._

"I- well... What... I don't know what to say," he mumbled aloud while cursing himself mentally as the blood rose in his face, turning his ears and face redder by the second. Pansy sat back in her chair, _thank god, I thought I was going to get eye-strain_, a satisfied smile on her face.

"Say yes," she purred. He swallowed hard and felt a tug in his groin. Then almost slapped himself. _What the hell are you thinking, you're still married and __**besides**__ that... It- it's Pansy for fu-_

"Yes," the word just slipped out. _What the hell did I just do! I wasn't listening and now I don't even know what I just agreed to. Fantastic._

Ginny clapped excitedly and Pansy's smile grew wider and shone genuinely. "Good," she said silkily, "then you can move in and start working immediately."

"What? What did you say? Mo-"

"Move in," she dazzled him again, "to the Parkinson Estate." He blanched and almost fell out of his chair. Ginny shot him a confused look that somehow managed to simultaneously say 'if-you-don't-look-grateful-this-very-instant,-I'm-going-to-kill-you-with-fire-and-big-heavy-shovels.'

He blinked and shook his head, Pansy watching him with amusement on her face. "I'm sorry-" he started, but she smoothly interrupted him.

"Oh, you'll be paid of course, and eventually you may move out of the main house as I see fit to expand your duties," he meant to cry out in dismay, but it came out more as a squeak which made Pansy flash him a smile again.

"Wha-wha-what kind of duties are you talking about?! I don't understand," he was trying very hard not to start yelling again and cause a scene, so his voice came out in a hiss and harsher than he'd meant. He was just confused, and yet Ginny must have thought he was being prejudiced against Pansy from the return of the "fire-and-big-heavy-shovels" in the form of an open glare. The brunette, however, just wore a calm expression, her mouth a small "o" for only a split second.

That sultry smile returned to her face and she leaned forward again, causing Neville to try once more to keep from staring intently at her cleavage. "Why," she nearly whispered, "you're going to be my personal gardener."

As Neville nearly fell out of his chair in astonishment, Pansy smiled inwardly to herself. _Well,_ she thought,_ this is going to be interesting if nothing else._

* * *

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything because I'm an unemployed irresponsible adult........ ****Hooraaaay~ Wonderfall wants Pansy to rape him, heeheehee.**


	3. Step Three: Find a Hobby

**Author's Note: Third chapter! Aren't you proud of me? Well, I am... proud... of me... SHHH. Just read! You know you like it.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anyone, but my own invented characters like Pansy's staff etc. I made it up, **_**tee hee!**_

**Chapter Three: Step Three: Find a Hobby**

* * *

He couldn't be doing this. There was no bloody way that Neville Longbottom had sunk this low. Moving into Ginny's flat would have been one thing, but this was just... _Ugh._ Ginny, who _could_ have supported him and possibly given him a chance to get on his own two feet, had instead sold soul to the devil. Granted, it was a very sexy devil that just so happened to have one of the strongest empires in the wizarding world and _owned_ the Holyhead Harpies, the quidditch team Ginny just happened to be chaser for. A devil with beautiful hair and legs that made Neville just want to- _No!_

Well, he didn't have any choice, now did he? Not that they would have given him one; Neville had the distinct impression that Ginny had done this on good faith that he wouldn't let her down. Pansy was now, after all, both his and Ginny Weasley's boss. He also had that sinking feeling of dread deep in the pit of his stomach. With a resigned sigh, he lugged his one bag full of clothes- that his wicked, evil friend had stolen from the Leaky Cauldron while Hannah was "out" and "didn't say a peep" to- up the large set of marble front steps that belonged to the main house.

* * *

"Do you think this is a good idea, Madam?" Pansy sighed from her place by the upstairs window. Her most faithful and trusted servant, Williby, was resting for the moment in Pansy's favorite soft chair a few feet behind her. She took her hand from the glass and turned to face him, smiling gently.

"What would you have me do," she said, "I already promised my only friend I would do all I could to help him." Williby drew a ragged breath and laughed dryly, almost breaking into a hoarse cough. He looked up at her with his dulled eyes.

"No, Madam," she sighed, but he continued, "but I would not have you hurt yourself in the process." Her eyes gleamed at him, but he divulged nothing aside from a wistful smile. She opened her mouth to retort, to say something witty, but the door opened and one of the younger maids she had hired poked her head in fearfully.

Pansy looked up at her and said, "Yes?" The girl looked about to faint, so she smiled and apologized for her sharp tone. _Even though I wasn't harsh at all,_ she sighed inwardly. _Why're they all afraid of me, anyways?_

"M-madam, there's a... there's a man in the entrance hall who says he lives here!" She squeaked and hid behind a large silver tray. Pansy snarled inwardly at the girl, but instead just smiled and spoke sweetly. The girl visibly relaxed and nodded eagerly when she asked her to tell Mister Longbottom to wait in the main parlor.

"I'll be there in a moment, miss..." She paused for the girl's name.

"Tella," the maid hiccupped, her eyes wide with shock. Pansy smiled indulgently and showed her out. When the door shut, Williby started his wheezing laugh again and she frowned at him.

"What's so funny, old man?" She sneered. He coughed for a few moments, raising his hand to keep her form coming close to help him. Then he stood up slowly, straightening his lapel and brushing off his knees.

"You're just such a people person is all, Madam," he bowed to her kindly, like he had for as long as Pansy could remember, and started his slow walk down the stairs to meet the young man his mistress had taken in. Pansy just smiled and followed as close as he'd allow her.

* * *

The room was just as impressive and expensive looking as Neville had imagined it would be. The floor was covered by a plush Persian carpet, various paintings and portraits held nearly silent figures that bustled quietly about their business (hardly acknowledging Neville's presence), and ornate furnishings including a small wooden table and floral arm chairs and a couch.

The shaken young girl who had greeted him at the door had called two men to come and take his bag to his quarters, then returned a few moments later to guide him to this room and told him to wait here. So he stood in the room, not wanting to sit on the fragile looking seats, waiting. After a few minutes, he started pacing and growing impatient. Then the door opened and an elderly man shuffled painfully into the room. He gave Neville a deep bow and then straightened as much as he could.

"Young master," he spoke laboriously, "I am the head of staff here at the Parkinson's Estate. You may call me Williby. You are to refer to me for anything you might need as soon as you start work in the morning, but for today you are a guest." He stopped for a shaky breath, his chest rattling. Neville fought the urge to help him take a seat. "May I present the Lady of the Manor, Pansy Parkinson."

Pansy walked into the room, her hair done up in a bun and garbed in another flattering outfit- this one of blue and green, without the robe since she was indoors. Neville did a very good job of not staring directly at the place where her clothes clung to her curves, instead looking at her suddenly very interesting right ear. She walked over to one of the chairs and sat, motioning Neville to do the same. The old man, Williby, bowed silently and left the room more quickly than he had entered it.

Pansy flipped open a small notebook, quickly turning the pages until she evidently found whatever she was looking for. Neville took an uneasy seat on the couch and braced himself for it to suddenly collapse.

"Ah ha," she said cheerfully, "here we are." He stared warily at her. "This is a list of your first assignments and all of the dates I need each one completed by." She deftly ripped the page and handed it to him, then leaned forward, resting her chin in her cupped hands as he stared at the paper. _Replant the main garden Dec-24, Walkway/front of Main Manor Dec-22, Atrium Jan-3..._

He looked up at her, incredulous. "Only three things? It's only October at that." She smiled sweetly, but he felt as if she were mocking him. Pansy abruptly stood and pulled her skirt down, smoothing it and straightening her blouse. Neville, unsure of what so do, stood as well.

"Don't worry," she said, "I will have more things for you to do after you've completed those." She had to keep from laughing at the look of disgust on his face; he was insulted by the shortness of the list. She walked from the room, gesturing for Neville to follow her. He mumbled something under his breath and stood, the couch giving a dangerous groan.

She was leading him through the house, pointing to various doors and telling him where they led. The ballroom, guest dining room, main parlor, and the main garden were all situated on the first floor. They had to walk through the dining room to get to the garden, and once Pansy opened the door he nearly fell to the floor.

It was outside, and desperately needed someone to take care of it. A dead and gnarled tree had fallen across the broken pathway, various bushes were entangled and practically strangling eachother, and weeds ran rampant. He looked at Pansy; she had a gleam in her eye that reminded him sharply of when she had teased him at Hogwarts. He nearly sneered at her. _What, scared Longbottom?_ He could practically hear her snap those words in the nasally voice she'd had in school.

She looked sideways at Neville, seeing his expression shift from utter despair, to agony, to... anger? And then, finally, to grim determination. When he finally met her gaze, Neville practically glared at her. Pansy blinked, trying to keep from shuddering at the intensity of his gaze; why was he angry at her?

She watched his adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard, something she had noticed him do at the diner as well. _Must be a habit_, she thought. She tried to discern through his shirt how fit he was; hadn't he been chubby in school? _Well, at least his arms are well sculpted,_ she thought. _And look at those hands; they're so big and warm looki- Oh wait, he's talking._

"...and at LEAST eighty kilos of mulch. I'll need new bulbs and..." He was wearing muggle clothing, blue jeans that fit him quite well, actually. She tilted her head to the side, pretending to listen as he talked on but actually disguising her appraisal of his ass. _Hmm... 8.5? Nice legs though. I wonde-_

"...ven listening to me? Hello, Pansy?" he had turned to her, standing with his hands on his hips, red faced with frustration. She felt the unexpected heat in her cheeks as she blushed. He'd been addressing her and she hadn't noticed. Instead of admitting it, she gave him a sly smile.

"Don't worry," she purred, _shit, shit, shit, did he notice? He didn't notice. Did he?_ "Just make a list and get it to Williby in the morning and you'll have everything you need by noon tomorrow." He relaxed, his shoulders slumping. When the maid showed up to offer lunch, Pansy agreed readily and walked swiftly out of the room, nearly leaving Neville behind.

He watched the sway of her hips in the blue-green plaid of the skirt and noted the curve of her calves. She wasn't wearing the boots she had on yesterday, and instead wore a pair of shining black strappy sandals. A shiver went up his spine at the thought of what type of underwear she wore underneath. _Probably thin black la-_ _Damn it, stop!_

They got back to the entrance and headed up the stairs, Pansy pointing out the two sets of guest rooms, and leading her into the private dining room. In it was a small table with enough room for maybe four, so he swallowed nervously at how close she was again. He remembered how her cleavage had shown the other day while she'd leaned forward, almost confidentially, towards him. When they were seated and awaiting the maid to return, Neville turned to her.

"Pansy, I mean, Miss Parkin-"

"You may call me Pansy, Neville," she smiled warmly at him.

"Er, right... Well, I was just wondering," he furrowed his eyebrows, "don't you have any house elves? I mean, I thoug-" She made a smooth mask of her face and he cut off his sentence.

"I do not employ the unwilling," she said almost sharply, directing her gaze to the napkin she folded into her lap. Neville's jaw nearly dropped open again when she said that. He felt his face flush, ashamed for some reason he couldn't put his finger on. She informed him of the last two rooms on the floor, her personal study and bedroom.

"On the third floor," she stated, "there are three rooms. There's the library, the atrium, and the pool." Neville felt his right eye twitch in an attempt to keep from opening his mouth again in astonishment. Pansy shot him another of her smooth smiles and leaned forwards again, as if she'd been reading his mind a few moments ago. Her blouse wasn't cut as low as it had been the day before; he could still see her breasts straining against her shirt though and he had to keep from making a groan out loud when he suddenly realized why. _She's not wearing a bra; what's she trying to do? Get attacked in the street?_

Pansy made idle banter with him, watching his eyes the entire time and smiling inwardly when she noticed where his attention was drawn. _So he __**does**__ like me, _she thought giddily. _Calm down, calm down. I mean, he's not the only man you've seen in... Okay, well, maybe it has been a good while but that's no reason to... _She frowned when she noticed a gleaming ring on his right finger. _Shit. _

Neville noticed her frown and raised an eyebrow. "Are you alright?" _Thank god,_ he thought when she sat back. _A few more minutes and I would have- No, I'm married. No, not the married part- the __**Parkinson**__ part. Okay. Just... just no._

"Yes," she faked a smile, hoping he wouldn't notice. He almost did, but before he could question her on it the maid returned, followed by Jeris and Fairth- two more of her workers- who were pushing the cart with a soup tureen and plates of salads. After eating, she led him to his room.

"Mine," she said, "is at the end of the hall next to my study." She looked pointedly at him. "I would appreciate if you did not come to call on me in my room." He laughed nervously and agreed. She smiled, but inside mentally slapped herself. When the door closed, she pressed her back against it and sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. _A married man, thanks Ginny. You're so great._

Neville opened the door to his room and went inside to get settled. He laid his back against the door when it closed and sighed aloud with his frustration. _Thanks a lot, Ginny, _he groused. _You probably knew this would happen._ He grumbled at his rotten luck. _Well, it's not like she wants you anyways._

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The end! THAT'S RIGHT I'M NOT WRITING ANY MORE THIS IS THE END no just kidding. (heart) JUST KIDDING~! Okay, so I'll start on Chapter Four soon.

**~squeek**


	4. Step Four: Do Something Relaxing

**Author's Note: Hey everyone! Sorry it took me such a long time to update, I had a bit of trouble trying to figure out how I wanted to say what I wanted to say. Tch, ya'll know how it is. :3 **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of J.K. Rowling's creations. Everything else is mine, including **_**sexual tension**_**! HEE HEE HEE. **

**Chapter Four: Step Four: Do Something Relaxing**

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Neville smiled down at the beautiful woman in his arms. Hannah had looked up at him with her big amber eyes and smiled dreamily.

"I love you," he kissed her nose. She giggled and pressed her face into his shoulder. He kissed the top of her hair; it had smelled like honey. "You snore, though," she looked up and frowned at Neville.

"Do not."

"I'm afraid so, Mrs. Longbottom," he grinned. Hannah didn't smile back though. She quickly turned away and wouldn't look at him. Hannah got out of bed, leaving her husband in a whirl of confusion. Was she crying?

"Hannah, I-"

The sun shining through the large window broke him from his memory. He'd fallen asleep uneasily in the oversized bed. His new room had been decorated in Gryffindor colors; a plush maroon carpet with matching drapes, the dark stained wood of the huge four poster bed lay out with a reversible comforter, gold and the same shade of maroon. The walls sported the same dark wood along its bottom half, and the top painted to match the drapes and floor, with gold vines drawn along in flattering patterns. _Clearly, Pansy has a thing for vines._ The only other furniture in the room was a large desk and chair, which sat in front of the window, from which the light had come in and woken him, and a large armoire in which he'd already hung his clothes.

There was a large bathroom connected to it, laid out with deep beige tiles for the floor and a dark blue granite sink and shower. _Hell, even the toilet is made of granite._ It wasn't that he hadn't expected it. Just that, for all his years living with his Grandmother, such a huge display of wealth seemed... garish. Over the top. Nevertheless, he was lying in the obnoxiously comfortable bed, sprawled every which way, when a soft knocking came from the other side of the door.

"Good morning, Master Neville," Williby, the ancient looking man, had entered and softly closed the door behind him. Neville sat up, pushing the blanket away from him.

"Good morning, sir," the old wizard chuckled and sat down on the bed.

"No need to call me sir, young Master," he smiled genially. "Williby will be fine; I've answered to it for many years and," he paused for a moment, "will hopefully answer to it for many more. Now then," he patted Neville's knee. "Let's get to work."

Once he was dressed, Neville met the butler outside in the hall and they headed down the hall to the garden. The old man nodded and walked with him until they got to the entrance of the garden when Williby took his leave.

"Master Neville, I will have everything you need brought to you by four this afternoon," he, after seeing Neville's nod and smile, closed the door.

He sighed as he reassessed the horrid state of the "garden," then pulled his wand out of the back pocket on his jeans. _Time to get to work then, I suppose._

* * *

Meanwhile, Pansy was in her darkened office, leaning back in her chair with her feet on her desk. She was also, uncharacteristically, upset. _Well, I wouldn't say upset… more like… Oh bloody hell, yes, okay, I'm horrendously upset._ She sat up and sighed, rubbing her temples as the blurry words on the papers in front of her failed to catch her attention. _Why is this bothering me so much?_

_Well, maybe it's because you were hopi-_

_Don't say it. I don't need a man now, nor have I ever needed one. Besides, now is a bollox time to be out looking for one. I'm perfectly oka-_

A soft knock on the door shook Pansy from her inner tirade. She cleared her throat and straightened herself, permitting entrance. Williby shuffled painfully in and sat himself down opposite of her.

"Madam, if I may," he gave her one of his half amused, half puzzled looks that Pansy knew from her childhood as the butler's "I've got some advice and you'd be damnned stupid not to listen to it" look. When she nodded her head, he took a ragged breath and smiled at her.

"I have seen to your needs these many years and, so I should like to think, I know you better than even yourself," she braced herself. Whenever he said that, it meant something she usually did _not_ want to hear. Williby ignored the sharp hissing noise as Pansy drew in a breath through her teeth and continued, leaning forward confidentially, "and I think you should spend more time with him." She resisted the urge to blink stupidly.

"What?" He smiled jovially.

"Get to know him, talk to him," he waved a hand nonchalantly.

"He… but I… Okay, look here you," she cleared her throat before she allowed him to get to her, "firstly, he's _married._ Secondly, and I don't know how you even _noticed_ I was interested in him-" he chucked and she ignored him, "but as his employer it would be immoral."

Williby gave her a mock-serious look and nodded his head gravely, clearly trying not to laugh. Rather than proving his point any further, she just glared at him. Williby sat there, softly laughing at her desperate attempts to burn him to death with her eyes. Then he slowly stood and smiled sadly at her. She allowed the shocked look on her face this time, and quickly stood to help her dear servant walk from the study. After he left her in peace, she waited a good five minutes before allowing herself to break down into silent tears.

* * *

Neville was having a bit of trouble getting rid of the dead tree. It wasn't a particularly old tree, nor was it incredibly large. It was an eyesore though, and just big enough that it made it hard for him to do anything with. Much to his dismay, the dead plant turned out to be a Wiggenweld tree—so his wand didn't work on it, nor any of the available potions he had in his room. And after an hour or so of cursing and straining trying to uproot the tree, he'd managed to mortally tear the right arm of his favorite work-shirt.

Neville snarled in frustration, threw the ruined shirt a few feet away from him, and tackled the tree, pressing all of his weight into it. He scratched his arm on a broken branch, which provoked him further until he heard the creaking sound of straining wood. More than a little malevolent towards the tree by now, he kept the pressure up and pushed even harder, gaining a small step forwards and more groaning from his nemesis. He was perspiring and it was making his hands dirtier, mud from the Wiggenweld clinging to them; he could feel it on his back and face.

The tree creaked desperately; he heard the door to the dining room open, but didn't care to look at this point. _Let them watch if they want, I'm moving this damn tree!_ Neville growled aloud and gave another mighty shove against it- his enemy leasing a mighty crack as the roots lifted free from the earth and the dead tree fell over, at last out of the garden. Neville whooped for joy and turned to face the audience, grinning and wiping a hand across his forehead. His grin, however, fell short when he saw the expression on the face of his watcher. Heat, instead, rose to take its place.

"Nevi-" Pansy's voice nearly cracked, but she cleared her throat instead. She had come down to invite him to lunch and seen his Herculean display of godly sexine- seen him push the tree over. And was seeing him without his baggy shirt hiding those magnificent abs and back that- seeing that he looked worn out and needing a break.

"_I thought you might need a break oh and by the way you look absolutely fuckable. Tea?" _ She slapped herself inwardly and felt the unfamiliar blush rise to her cheeks again. Without thinking, she spun from the room and slammed the door shut.

_He's married, he's married, he's married, he's-_

Neville liked to think he knew what that kind of look meant- I mean, he hadn't _actually_ been with a woman for a while because, well because… _Look, Hannah wasn't sleeping with you because she was busy sexing up your best friend. Obviously, it wasn't you. Er- was it?_

_No. Most certainly not. Maybe. _

_Well, she wants you, that's for damn sure! _

_That isn't the issue here, is it now?_

_Ugh, maybe I should just leave… Stay at Ron's or something… Mayb-_

_No, you should talk to her about it. You need this job and you're just going to have to try to work for Pansy without imagining pinning her against the garden wall and- _

_HEY, HEY, HEY! Wedding ring mean anything to you?_

Neville groaned aloud and pressed his head against the cool stone of the garden wall. _This just can't keep happening- I'll end up either hurting her or going crazy!_

Retrieving his shirt, he hastily buttoned it and pulled open the door. Pansy was sitting on the floor in front of the wall next to it, and she looked up at him with surprised eyes. He saw her swallow again and the blush come back into her face for an instant just before she looked away. Sighing inwardly, he held a hand out towards her.

"We need to talk." She didn't take his hand and stood quickly, straightening and brushing off her skirt.

"About what?" Pansy wouldn't look at him. He felt his face flush with embarrassment.

"Well, I think that if we're going to keep acting like," he cleared his throat and motioned a hand between them, "this… There's just some things we need to-" The look of disgust and loathing on Pansy's face stopped his words.

"I- you? We're not… But you're ma-" she stuttered, trying simultaneously to avoid his direct gaze and to glare him to death, "How dare you!" She slapped him soundly across the face.

Neville was shocked; he slowly raised an unbelieving hand to the hot mark on his left cheek. She hit him! And it _hurt_ too! He opened his mouth to explain and she glared at him indignantly.

"Hannah left me for Colin Creevey," his voice sounded thick, like he was trying to sound out each word, and his hand was still pressed to the spot where Pansy had smacked him.

Again with the blushing! Pansy heard herself squeak in surprise, though she was trying to remain calm and indifferent. "But… You're still wearing your- Look," she wrung her hands together guiltily, "I thought you were married! And that you were-"

"Trying to have an affair with you?" His cheek still stung. Neville didn't remember taking a step towards her, but she was within holding distance now so one of them had to have moved. _Am I really going to do this?_

Pansy could feel the heat coming off of his body- how odd that he smelled like sweat and dirt, how odd that she liked the smell of it. _You're really going to let this happen?_

Neville was close enough to kiss her now, and his hands had pinned her arms against the wall above her. He could smell her hair, like pine needles and cinnamon- she didn't smell sweet or cover herself in perfumes as all of the women Neville had met did. She was shaking. He frowned; was he scaring her? He could feel her against him, her fabric shifting, even as the heat pooled into his face. As he leaned forward to kiss her, Neville felt his stomach drop and his head started spinning. He wanted her.

_Yes, I really am._

Her heart was thudding loudly enough that Pansy was sure he could feel it. Her head spun as he leaned forward, pressing against her. She could feel him, almost imagine what being with him would be like. Her lips tingled as they almost met and she did something she'd never done before- _she yielded_.

_I want this, I want-_

A knock on the door broke them apart, a woosh of air from his suddenly leaving, dropping her hands and fixing his shirt. She bit back the urge to pull him back to her and instead turned to the door, ready to rip their interrupter's head off.

As she whirled to meet her unfortunate victim, she heard the half-strangled cry of Neville next to her.

Hannah Longbottom was standing, wide eyed, in the door way.

* * *

**HAHAHAHAHA! Bet you didn't see **_**that**_** coming! What will happen in the next chapter?! WILL NEVILLE EVER FREAKING KISS PANSY??? WILL WONDERFALL KILL ME FOR MAKING A CLIFFHANGER?! **

**I know it's kind of short, but hey. The next one will be back to normal length, hopefully.**

**Flames will be used to roast chestnuts :3 I'm starting right now on the next chapter! Please Review and tell me what you think! *heart*  
**


	5. Step Five: Try Something New

**Author's Note: Muahahaha. **

**Chapter Five: Step Five: Try Something New**

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Hannah stood in the doorway, blinking owlishly at the two of them, her mouth hanging open in shock. She was clutching something to her chest, Pansy noticed. The woman cleared her throat.

"Neville," her voice was quavering and she looked close to tears, "N-Neville, I need you to sign these…" Pansy couldn't help it; she raised her hands to cover her mouth in surprise. She looked over to the man standing next to her, his fists were clenched at his sides and his mouth pinched in a harsh line. Neville's face was reddened with anger and Pansy started at the look that gleamed in his eyes.

"Divorce papers?" Hannah flinched as if he'd slapped her; Neville was practically snarling at his wife. Pansy could feel the heat rising in her face and wished it were possible she could leave.

Neville was reeling. He'd gone from one extreme to the next and could feel himself losing control. _How dare she! How could she just-_ He almost jerked when a cool hand touched the back of his balled up fist. He looked down and saw Pansy, an aggrieved expression marring her features, holding his hand. He noticed that he had taken a few steps towards his wife at the end of the room and felt a surge of nausea and self-revulsion.

_He'd wanted to hit her._ Pansy had stopped him, but he had still wanted it. Neville swallowed against the bile rising in his throat.

"I- Hannah…" Pansy let him go once he'd calmed down; she saw his shoulders slump and he visibly relaxed. He looked like he wanted to puke, though. Hannah was silently crying, clutching the papers closer to her chest.

"Neville, it's just…" She whimpered. "You were never like this before; you're just… different now… I don't know what happened, but you've changed." He furrowed his brows, not understanding. _She was blaming him?_ His chest ached.

"I don't love you anymore," she said, "I think I stopped loving you a long time ago." His mouth dropped open. He really was going to throw up. Hannah winced at his pained expression, but continued. "I'm going to marry Colin." Pansy wanted to rip off the witch's head and beat her to death with it. Oddly enough, though, Neville just started laughing.

He laughed until tears were rolling down his face and he was nearly doubled over, holding his sides. Hannah and Pansy shot each other varying degrees of concerned looks, each wondering what had set him off and trying to decide whether or not to help him.

"Hannah," he walked over to her and snatched the papers from her, tapped his wand on a line and pressed the pages back into her hands. "Colin can _have_ you," he snarled.

Then, with a loud crack, he disapparated.

* * *

The King's Crossing train station, for the second time in only three days, was graced with the presence of a very depressed Neville Longbottom. He was the epitome of turmoil; varying emotions ripped through his insides, hardly letting him see straight as he walked back to his bench. The witch with the over-sized nose was on the platform again today, but thankfully avoided him like he was plagued.

When the wind picked up, he realized why- Neville was still wearing his half-buttoned, torn up, and partially bloodied shirt. He probably had dirt all over his face and his hands and looked like he'd buried someone alive.

He sighed and took off his shirt, wiping his hands and face on it, then bound some bandages around the cut on his arm- it wasn't too deep really- then transfigured the poor battered piece of clothing into a heavier coat. It was cold and starting to snow a bit outside. Taking a few deep breaths, deciding it would be best to just get over it, he stood and marched quickly towards the exit to downtown London.

Or, at least, that's what he would have done if he hadn't slammed into the wizard who was pacing obliviously back and forth in front of the door.

"Ow! Merlin- You just! Oh, it's you!" Neville, who had been knocked onto his arse, rubbed the cruising spot on his chest from where he'd slammed into the poor man, and looked up to see whose silky baritone was assaulting his ears. _Did I just describe a man's voice as silky?_

Draco Malfoy, wearing the familiar smirk from school, stood there, holding his hand out to offer Neville help getting up.

"Ugh," he said, taking the wizard's hand. He was pretty sure he felt his face wrinkle in momentary disgust.

"Longbottom, we're not in school anymore so you can quit with the nasty looks." Draco shot him a lopsided grin and then shifted back into his nervous pacing. "Hey, uh… You're married right?" Neville gauged his expression by the change in Malfoy's own. The blond must've noticed what he looked like, though, as his face quickly returned to the patented "Malfoy" mask of cool confidence.

"I just signed the papers a few minutes ago, so…"

"Ah, well, I… I'm sorry, I suppose." Obviously, he wasn't used to consoling other people, Neville thought.

_Better figure all of this out, Longbottom, or else you'll be stuck not knowing how to feel._

He cleared his throat and caught Draco's attention. _I guess confiding in him could be worse, I mean… we're not in school anymore, right?_

"Ma-Malfoy," he swallowed the break in his voice away and the wizard turned, assessing him. "I've got a feeling that you need someone to talk to, and well," he blushed awkwardly, "I need someone I can trust to-"

"Want to go get a shirt?" Neville blinked. Draco looked completely serious, almost like he was trying to transmit some inner thought into Neville's brain. _Like one of those muggle comic books…_

"Er, sure, I guess… I don't have my walle-"

"I'll take care of it," Draco hissed and grabbed onto his arm, pulling the confounded man out into the cold London station. Once they were away from the few other wizards that ghosted the platforms, Draco shot Neville a half-pleading-look, half-glare and spoke quickly in heated words.

It sounded like "_I'm a loaf of germy anger_," to which Neville replied in the only acceptable way any self-respecting man can.

He said "What the fuck're you on about?" and gave him the most bewildered look he thought was physically possible for any human being. Draco snarled as the most mournful look Neville thought he'd ever seen him make washed over his features. Which really wasn't as mournful as some others he'd seen, but hey, it was Malfoy.

"I'm _in love_… with… _hermes danger_," Draco hissed and gave him a desperate look.

"Look, why don't you try writing it?" A look of rage crossed the blonde's features.

"Write it?! _I'm in love with Hermione Granger!_" he shouted, then quickly clapped a hand over his mouth, his ears glowing red. He let out a groan at the shocked look on his company's face and grabbed Neville's arm harshly, pulling him into the nearest shop. Which just so happened to be a muggle coffee shop.

"You can't tell _anyone_," he hissed and jabbed a finger at the taller wizard. Neville shook the fog from his head and almost laughed.

"I don't _need _to tell anyone; you just shouted it to half of bloody England!" Draco paled considerably and grabbed them a nearby table, groaning again and covering his face in his hands.

"I don't know what to do about it! She just… Argh! She makes everything so difficult all the _time_ and, and… it's like half the time I want her and the other half she's driving me crazy!" He waved his hands about animatedly. Neville was taken aback.

Firstly, there was the issue with _Draco Malfoy_ falling in love with _Hermione Granger_. Secondly, Neville still wasn't entirely sure what he should do or how he should feel about his _own_ love life, yet Malfoy was asking him, _him_, for relationship advice. Thirdly, there was the fact that Neville still wasn't wearing a shirt and a group of muggle girls were staring and giggling at him. He hastily zipped up his jacket, despite the warmth of the room.

When a young waitress in blond pigtails walked up to the table, eyeing Neville's now-covered chest, Draco ordered two teas and a plate of biscuits to hasten her departure. Neville gave him a weary look of thanks and finally sighed aloud.

"What should I do, Lo- Neville?" He looked sad for a fraction of a second.

"Well, I think you should start at the beginning," Neville furrowed his brow. He wasn't the relationship expert, but Draco asked for his help and he was going to try anyways… as weird as it was.

Draco launched into a near endless tirade; how they'd fallen in love [mostly accident], why he loved her [less than accident], and finally, how they were starting to fall apart [not an accident at all]. Hermione, apparently, had begun to act moodily around him- well, more so than usual- and had refused to tell him what was wrong. In fact, every time he tried to get her to talk, she got angrier with Draco!

"It's just not fair!" He very nearly whined. "How'm I supposed to know what's bothering her if she won't tell me!" Neville was shaken; it was eerily similar to him and Hannah- er, well before… He swallowed.

"Hann- My ex-wife," his voice almost broke again, "and I went through a similar thing… she was… less than faithful." Draco winced, then made a dismissive gesture.

"She's not cheating on me," a sad smile, "I asked that this morning. She threw all of my things out of the house and screamed at me, calling me a 'bloody idiot,' and a 'slimy git.'" Neville suppressed a smile and nodded; that sounded kind of like Hermione.

The waitress came back with their order, popping her bubble gum.

"Maybe she's pregnant," she said dismissively. The two men stared at her, mouths hanging open. Draco spluttered to life first.

"I- what? No, she ca- I mean," he barked a short laugh, "that's impossible! I mean… Really?!" The girl shrugged her shoulders and left the receipt on the table. Malfoy looked to Neville. "Do you… Well there were these things, you know? I mean, I didn't know what they were… They looked like sticks and all of them were pink colored?" Neville felt his eyes widen. Something clicked in his head and he knew what was wrong with Hermione. _Muggle pregnancy tests?!_ His thoughts reeled; how many of those had Hannah and he waited for to turn pink?

"You… How many _were there_ exactly?" Draco looked puzzled but answered anyways.

"A whole pile of them… I don't know, fifteen?" When Neville's mouth hung open in surprise, Draco looked like he wanted to throttle him until the answer fell out.

"Draco, I know why she's upset…"

* * *

"You should never have come here, you know that?" Pansy kept her voice measured and cool. Hannah was sitting on the floral couch across the table in the parlor, sniffling still about what Neville had said.

"I didn't know he- I mean… How long have you two-" She glared at her guest, causing Neville's ex-wife to snap her mouth shut midsentence.

"We haven't even kissed, and that would have happened only because he told me you two were no longer together."

"How could you be sure he was telling the truth," she squeaked meekly, hiding her blushing face by looking at the carpet.

"He loved you," she snarled, "and you destroyed him." She heard the woman stifle a sob and watched her pale.

"I-I had to, Pan- Miss Parkinson!" She really did break into sobs. "I'm pregnant," she wailed and cried out pitifully. Pansy fought the urge to grab the poor creature and shake her. _Neville would have forgiven you, Neville would have taken you back you stupid bint!_

Instead, she consoled her and told her that everything would work out in the end, all the while feeling fake and empty. _It isn't even his child…_

_Still…_

_How am I going to be able to tell him?_

Draco was dazed for a good ten minutes, blinking and occasionally opening his mouth to say something- then thinking better of it and shutting it closed again. It was getting darker outside, and Neville sat there contemplating his own vast ocean of feelings. He thought of Hannah and felt queasy- then remembered Pansy's hand on his own and almost smiled with relief that she had been there. Then when he frowned, no longer able to count the number of times he'd lost his temper, Draco's voice pulled him out of his fog.

"..our turn, Lo- Neville," he nudged the cold cup of tea and broke a biscuit in half.

"My turn? Oh, well…" he sighed, "it's kind of… complicated." Draco gave him an almost sympathetic look and motioned for Neville to continue.

"I think I'm…" he groaned and leaned forward into his hands, "I'm not sure yet, but I think I fancy Pansy Parkinson…" Draco coughed, choking on his cookie and pounding his chest, knocking over the tea in front of him.

"Wow mate," he coughed again, "you really do have it bad!" He leaned forward over the table, quickly wiping it off. "What're you going to do?"

"I haven't a bloody clue," Neville moaned and pinched the bridge of his nose.

_How am I going to tell her? _

After a moment, the two of them left the cafe, Draco paying for the food with some muggle money. Draco babbled inanely as they walked on, heading back to King's Crossing.

_Fantastic. I like Pansy Parkinson._

_

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**Mweeheeheehee. And you thought something **_**bad**_** was going to happen, I bet. Er, well maybe not BAD, just naughty. Either way, I'm sorry I snuck in a little Dramione- it's mostly a side story and won't make many cameos. :3**

**Disclaimer: I totally don't own J.K. Rowling's creations, just the ones I've made up. **

**Flames will be used for cooking food for starving artists, and Reviews will help me actually start keeping up with my self-imposed deadlines! Which're actually more like "at least three chapters per month." I'll start on chapter six soon or else you can come hunt me down and make me write! :D**


	6. Step Six: Do Something Productive

**Author's Note: Tshhhhhhyeaaaah… I'm totally into it now; I think I'm probably going to be updating as much as I possibly can… Especially after Christmas. How does this make you **_**feel?**_** :D You guys should totally review because with each one, my power grows stronger. :3**

**WARNING: THERE IS HOT SWEATY SMUT IN THIS CHAPTER AND YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. I WARNED YOU. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of J.K. Rowling's original ideas, thoughts, or emotions. I just toy with the previously existing ones, muahahaha.**

**Chapter Six: Step Six: Do Something Productive**

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Pansy snapped awake as she heard a loud crack from down the hall. Then she heard muffled swearing and a thudding noise, followed finally by a door closing and then silence.

She hadn't _meant_ to stay up waiting for him to come home… _Okay, well maybe I was a little worried._

_Bullshit, you damn near wore a hole in your lip from chewing on it._

_Well, I'm sure he had his reasons for being out until- _

_Until four o'clock in the morning? Is that what you were going to say? _

_Yes, well I suppose you're right… I mean, after all, the only thing that happened today was that he almost compromised who he was by snogging your brains out,-_

_Okay, I get it._

_-having his stupid wife show up and asking him to sign the divorce papers,-_

_Hey, _ex_-wife missy!_

_-so I'm sure that you're _completely_ within your rights to harangue him about coming home late. _

_Ugh, shut it. I'm going back to sleep.

* * *

  
_

Neville tripped over the carpet, nearly hitting his head on the side of the giant four poster bed. "Shit!" he said too loudly, then shushed himself, nearly giggling.

"Damn it Malfoy, you're just… you're just a silly person, that's what you are," Neville whispered to the dark room in a failed attempt to coherently blame his drunkenness on the blonde-headed wizard. He'd been out this late for a very good reason; he had been busy getting trashed with Draco and, despite his best efforts, Neville was actually starting to _like _the guy.

"You know what," he was lying on the floor next to his bed, loudly talking to the ceiling, "I think that I should just tell her."

He rolled over onto his stomach and pushed himself up, grabbing onto the bed for support as he stood. The room tilted to the left, so he balanced himself and teetered quietly to the door, opening it and stumbling into the hall. Holding onto the wall to keep the room from moving unexpectedly, he inched towards Pansy's door and grabbed hold of the knob.

The door opened silently and he tripped towards the large bed in the middle of the room, attempting to keep very quiet so that he wouldn't scare it away. Brows furrowed in concentration, he climbed into bed next to Pansy, who didn't wake up, and snuggled next to her, pulling her next to him. She sighed quietly in her sleep, and he smiled, warm against her and still buzzing from the firewhisky.

_She smells kinda nice, like earlier._

Pansy rolled over, snuggling into the warm body holding her closely until she suddenly became aware that-

"HOLY FUCKING _SHIT_! NEVILLE?" She screeched, pulling away from him and dragging the sheet to cover her thin nightgown from his eyes. He groaned and rolled face-first into a pillow, one hand grasping blindly for the sheet she was clutching to her chest. Her heart was racing and her face was annoyingly hot again.

_Did we- _

_No, he's wearing clothes you idiot._

She sighed, suddenly elated. Everything was- wait, no everything was _not_ alright!

"Neville, what the _hell_ are you doing in my _bed?!_" He snored softly into the pillow.

_Great.

* * *

  
_

Neville was being shaken awake. He blindly opened his eyes, then blinked to focus his vision. Pansy was holding onto his shoulder, moving him back and forth, her mouth set in a grim line. He frowned, confused.

"Oi, Pansy, what're you doing in my-" She huffed at him, placing her hands on her hips and looking away from him.

"This is _my_ room, you _idiot_," she snapped. "You crawled into bed with me last night after you'd come home drunk." His eyes widened, her words waking him fully, and he jumped out of her bed, stammering apologies and explaining what had happened.

"Well, you see, when we figured it out about the baby," his words halted by the look on her face. "What?"

"Y-you know about the _baby_?" She shrieked again. Neville frowned and nodded slowly.

"Yeah? I mean, Malfoy and I, we worked it out," he scratched the back of his head nervously, "After all, when he mentioned the pink sticks, I knew Herm- his girlfriend was pregnant. I mean, Hannah and I, we…" He shut up and gave her a pained smile. She looked shocked and confused.

"Anyways," he mumbled, "what with Draco figuring out he's going to be a _dad_, we kind of… well, he took me out 'just for a pint to celebrate' and it turned into 'enough firewhiskey to lead to someone else apparating you home.'" He let out a nervous laugh.

"Oh, well," she tried to regain her composure, smiling widely at him, "that sure sounds like Draco, anyways." Neville looked sideways at Pansy.

"Say… how did you know about the baby anyways?" Her heart thudded again as she blinked stupidly at him, trying to throw him off.

_Oh god oh god ohgodohgodohgod…_

"Well, Draco and I still keep in contact," she said flippantly, "you really think he'd _not_ tell me about his big debut?" He still didn't believe her; she could see it. Sweat started to bead on her forehead. He stepped closer to her, staring her down.

"Really now?" She nodded and forced a smile. He grinned. "Well then, you'd already know the _mother_ then, wouldn't you Pansy?" Her mouth made a perfect "o" for a second. She swallowed hard, then looked away. _No one had ever caught her _not_ knowing something about anyone before!_

"I-I…" heat rose to her face again, "…"

"Yes?" He leaned in closer to her. _Damn it! He's playing with you!_

"I… _lied_," she whispered, turning to face the carpet, "I didn't know about the baby." Neville drew back, an uncharacteristically smug look overtaking his features. He quickly deflated when he saw the gleam of tears on Pansy's downturned face.

"H-hey, I didn't mean nothing," he said quietly, "I was only joking around, you know." His heart stuck in his throat; he'd made her _cry_.

"It's not _that_," she said, "you big idiot." She sobbed, feeling stupid and useless for crying like this in front of him. At his mixed look of concern and confusion, she cried even harder.

"Well, what _is_ it then," he tried to ask as calmingly as possible. He never knew what to do with a crying woman, and now one was here that he couldn't help at all.

"After you left…" she wouldn't look at him, instead turning to the wall, "Hannah, she…" His look of near panic was replaced by one of loathing.

"Did she hurt you?" His voice was shaking. She looked at him in disbelief.

"N-no, Neville! She's… She told me why she was leaving you," she swallowed against the return of the burning tears, trying to not make him even more upset. Neville's mouth set in a hard line, and he stood straight for a moment, thinking about something. Then he reached forward and pulled Pansy into his arms, wrapping her almost completely in them.

"I don't care," he whispered. "I don't want to know because it would only haunt me further and besides, I'd rather ju-"

"She's pregnant with Colin's baby," her words cut through him like she'd stabbed him. All he could do was stand there in shock.

"Sh-she left me because… because we didn't have any _children_?" His words were taut, he was almost at the snapping point. Everything was numb. _She left me for that… Weren't we happy together? Wasn't she happy with_ me_?_

Pansy didn't know what to say to him, and instead just stood there, letting him hold her and feeling guilty that she was happy just to be in his arms. He started mumbling something incoherently, however, and she became frightened.

_Oh no, what did you do? What did you do!_

"Neville… Neville!" She almost broke into tears again; he wasn't answering her and wouldn't move. "_Neville!_" Pansy nearly started screaming at him, and was hitting him on the chest with the palms of her hands. Finally, she did the only thing she could think of and pulled his lips to hers.

* * *

It was cold and dark; everything was missing but still the same all at once. Neville couldn't feel anything and dimly heard someone calling out to him. One, two, three, four blows to his chest. They felt like nothing, like air buffeting him. And then, light exploded from nowhere and everywhere, bringing him back to life again. He sighed against her. She was so warm, and she was kissing him, he realized with a start. Or had he kissed her? He didn't remember and so he pulled away.

Pansy stood there, glaring at him. He looked taken aback and suddenly jumped away from her, hands in the air.

"Pansy, I-"

"Are an idiot? Yes, we covered that. Besides," she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, "it's not like she was the only one who fancied you." He drew in a sharp breath, his stomach flipping. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again stupidly.

Then Neville grabbed her upper arms and pressed his mouth to hers. She stiffened at first, but he didn't care. His lips bruising hers, tongue darting teasingly past her warm lips, he wanted her to know how he felt. She moaned and laced her fingers into his dark hair as he gently bit her lip and even pulled on it, sucking it and then probing his tongue into her mouth, pulling her towards him.

She was dizzy, which _almost never_ happened when she'd kissed someone, and she was also quickly losing control, which had never happened _period_. When Neville pulled away, she almost snarled at him and pulled him back, but he picked her up in his arms and carried her a few steps to the bed.

Pansy's face was flushed and her eyes were feverish. The heavy drapes blocked out nearly most of the light, leaving it dimly lit. He was breathing heavily, he knew, and felt clumsy holding her in his arms. Gathering his resolve, he laid her on top of the deep purple sheets and then held himself over her, effectively pinning her to the bed.

"Do you want me," he breathed into her ear, feeling her shudder underneath him. It wasn't a question; he was asking her for permission. When she sighed, he bit down on her exposed neck, sliding his hand along her stomach to take off her shirt, eliciting an excited cry from her.

He suckled on her neck and trailed kisses down her collarbone, lightly brushing his fingertips along her sides and feeling the skin prickle underneath his hand. Pansy was responding to him with quiet moans as he ran a finger along the edge of her skirt.

"I _said_," he repeated, "do you want me?" He felt electricity along his spine where her fingernails dug into his flesh through his shirt. He groaned aloud as she pressed a hand to his straining member, the heat from it traveling through even his jeans to coax another moan from his lover.

Neville shivered, resisting the urge to- _Ah hell with it._

He snarled at her as she mercilessly rubbed her hand against him through the coarse fabric, and deftly ripped the her shirt open and nearly off of her body, buttons tearing away in all different directions, and pulled her skirt down to her ankles before she could even gasp in surprise. He smiled seductively at her, drinking in her gleaming body. She was wearing matching black lace underwear and it was all he could do to simply kiss her stomach, her sides, trail his tongue towards her thighs.

Pansy gasped as she felt his hot mouth on her through her panties, then almost bucked her hips as he teased her through the cloth with his tongue and teeth. When he finally removed the barrier, she cried aloud. His fingers probed inside of her while he suckled on her sensitive bud. She couldn't see clearly and her lungs felt on fire with each breath. Her hands wound themselves into his hair as she gasped and mewled, finally crying out when the tingling sensation washed over her entire body.

He wore a self satisfied smirk when she met his eyes, and she reached up to pull his shirt off, and then fumble with his jeans. He stiffened as she deliberately rubbed the heel of her hand against him while undoing the maddeningly difficult pants, then reached down and helped her, chuckling softly and throwing them to a distant corner of the room. She would have glared at him, but he leaned down to kiss her. She pressed her hands to his chest and rolled him over onto his back, then grabbed the elastic band of his boxers and pulled them off.

She hissed in surprise at the girth of his member; it wasn't overly large, but it sure was larger than any she'd seen. Without hesitating, Pansy wrapped her fingers around it, earning a low growl from Neville. She gasped in astonishment when the organ pulsed, warm and smooth, at her touch. She stroked it using her hands a few times before taking as much as she could into her mouth.

He heard himself cry out; this had never happened to him before. Her mouth was warm and wet, but her tongue was there as well. It flitted along his shaft as she bobbed her head, the tip of his limb throbbing as it rubbed against the alternating hard palate and soft skin on the roof of her mouth. He felt it building, so he grabbed her from him, swiftly pulling her underneath him.

His eyes were dark and his breathing was ragged. She heard him whisper her name, almost plaintively. She felt wetness leak between her thighs and she moaned as his fingers plunged into her again. He groaned as she pumped against him, writhing as he wiggled them inside of her.

"Pansy," his voice almost broke, "I _need_ you." She gasped, her heart fluttering at the sound of his voice. He was still asking her for permission; still asking her if this was what she wanted.

"Oh Neville," she breathed, kissing him. She called out as he manipulated her with his hands. "Please," she cried, pressing her body against him, "I need you _too_!" She nearly screamed as he entered her, but all she could manage to do was blink back tears of happiness, gasp, and dig her nails into his back as hard as she could. It didn't hurt; it felt _good_.

He filled her completely, her muscles contracting as he rhythmically pumped into and out of her, her own howls of ecstasy mingling with his cries for her until they finally crested and he gave one final shudder and moan, then lay on top of her, catching his breath. He moved after a moment, though, mumbling an apology and not noticing her frown at the loss of his comfortable weight and warmth.

Gradually, after the feeling returned to her limbs, Pansy wrinkled her nose as she noticed that they were both covered in sweat. Her hair was matted with it, earning another nose scrunch. Also, she was still wearing her shirt, and her bra, kind of and her skirt and panties were still bunched up around her ankles. Neville lay on his side, watching her with an amused expression on his face.

"What?" she snapped playfully. He grinned openly at her, twining a strand of her hair around his fingers.

"I think I could use a shower."

* * *

**Well, it's been a long time since I've written anything this raunchy but I hope it turned out pretty well. Review and tell me what you think! Pleeeeaaaaase? [ ' w ' ]**

**P.S. I WARNED YOU!**

**P.P.S.**

**Wonderfall: It's not in the garden is that- OMG IT'S A SPIDER HOLY SHIIII-  
**


	7. Step Seven: Try Telling the Truth

**Author's Note: I'm tired and covered in flour from baking tons and tons of holiday treats.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of J.K. Rowling's creations, I merely invent upon them. ****Either way, here's the next chapter!**

**Chapter Seven: Step Seven: Try Telling the Truth**

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The blustery young mediwitch swooped back into the examination room where the old man had been waiting. He was bent over, carefully buttoning his shirt as she rustled onto her stool, not bothering to smooth her skirt or fix her flyaway brown hair. She pretended to scribble something on her clipboard while she actually was watching him for any symptoms he had tried to cover up through the corner of her squinty brown eyes.

His breathing was shallower than it had been last visit, and he was coughing with more regularity; she struggled to keep from frowning in front of him. She liked this old man because he was kind, paternal and unassuming in his mannerisms. A lump threatened to form in her throat, but she swallowed against it and instead gruffly rattled off her practiced warnings- she was used to this routine by now, although the first three months of visits had been fruitlessly wasted on an array of subtle and not so subtle attempts to convince him to remain at St. Mungo's for treatment.

When she'd finished, he did as he always had and thanked her warmly and, smiling, carefully got off of the examination table, donned his coat, picked up his hat, and left the room as she held the door open for him. After he was gone, the mediwitch allowed herself a sad sigh. She swiped angrily at the mist in her eyes, coughed once to clear her throat, and left to continue on her rounds.

As soon as he stepped outside, Williby coughed into his handkerchief. He wiped his mouth and swiftly folded and tucked it into his pocket. There was blood on it he knew, but he didn't feel like thinking about that at the moment. With a resigned sigh, he stepped towards the nearest floo-station and hummed under his rattling breath, a sedate smile on his face.

* * *

Neville whacked with in fervor at the weeds and dead or dying plants in the garden. Despite the chill in the air, he'd already taken off his jacket and was swinging the garden hoe through the air with murderous intent. Magic, it seemed, refused to work on anything in the garden besides the walkway and the large fountain at the very south end against the wall. Now, he didn't mind the physical activity. No, what had whipped up the frenzy of roiling emotions was the fact that he had _used_ someone and now he couldn't get over it.

_People do this all the time._

_Yes, well you're not "people."_

He kept hearing Pansy crying out whenever and wherever silence fell, seeing his hands trespassing over her smooth flesh when he closed his eyes. He shuddered in revulsion whenever he thought of what he'd done. Oh, it hadn't been _right _afterwards, he hadn't had time to think about it before taking her into his arms again. He closed his eyes and felt the steam from the shower around him again and hear her moaning, calling out his name. Bile rose in his throat and he reeled for a moment, then hacked away at the offending plants again.

In his mind, he was a rapist. Worse, Pansy didn't know why he was avoiding her, taking his meals by his self. Neville had even gone so far as to have moved his room to one of the abandoned sheds in the garden, using charms to make it draft free and nearly cozy. She was hurt, and he was doing it. He sighed, pausing mid swing and ran a tired hand through his hair. It wasn't as if he wanted to hurt Pansy more than he already had. But it was either this or…

_Ugh…_

* * *

Pansy scribbled violently on the newest "urgent matter" pertaining to her business, her lips set in a pout. She was starting to snap at every tentative servant that unknowingly ventured into her lair to deliver a missive or otherwise. She'd have felt worse about it if she weren't so busy beating herself up at every opportune moment. One morning, almost three weeks ago, she'd lured her _gardener_, Neville Longbottom, into her bed- well, she'd woken up with him passed out next to her after he'd come home drunk due to Draco Malfoy's incessant need to drag innocent bystanders into insane revelry.

None of that was important now anyways because he was _avoiding _her. He wasn't even doing a very good job being subtle about it. And as well he should, because she'd taken advantage of his weakness- She'd manipulated him into having sex with him. She was stupid for expecting any other result.

_Damn, damn, damn, damn…_

Her head snapped up at the soft sound of the door clicking, but before she could snarl Williby walked in stiffly through the door and succeeded in wiping all traces of animosity off of her face and replacing it with genuine concern.

"News?" He smiled at her indulgently. She gritted her teeth; he knew something was going on with her and she was going to get the third degree whether she knew it or not. As he sat in his favorite of the two chairs in front of her dark wooden desk, she sighed and tangled a hand in the hair at the nape of her neck.

"I take it," he paused, fighting a cough, "that from what I gathered from the gossip is that you did not listen to me." She stared at him dubiously. When the butler didn't drop his gaze or swipe the smile from his face, she felt her palms begin to itch nervously.

"Wha-what do you mean?" She attempted a fake smirk but it twitched on her face under his direct gaze. He tugged on his sleeves, straightening them out, but refused to speak until at least a minute had passed in uncomfortable silence. He was working on her nerves, as usual, to try and "give his words more weight so that they may better sink in to her head." Pansy nearly gave a sigh of relief when he opened his mouth to speak, but held it back to ensure the end of the silence.

"You let him sleep with you," he raised a long finger to stall her protests, "before you got to know him and before he knew you. Technically, madam, you had a one night stand with a complete stranger." She furrowed his brows at him in frustration.

"I…" Williby's stare stopped her rebuff. She felt the urge to bow her head in defeat. "You're right," she said quietly, "it's all my fault." He suddenly gave a raspy laugh, then broke into a fit of coughing, raising his free hand to keep her on the other side of the desk. It sounded wet, she noticed with concern. It had always been dry before…

"Child," she started at the informality; she hadn't heard it since she had turned ten years old, "I did not blame you for it. If it was anyone's _fault, _then it belongs to both of you." She pursed her lips at him and scrunched up her nose. He resumed the posture of indulgence, lacing his fingers together and holding them in his lap, until she spoke.

"What should I do?" She nearly groaned, "He won't even _speak_ to me." He raised an eyebrow at her, disbelieving. "Well," she mumbled, correcting herself, "not directly at least." He sighed and raised his hands in a hopeless manner. She shot an impatient glare at him until he nearly laughed again, then stood painfully from his seat.

"Dear girl," he said sweetly, "if anyone would know best how to fix the messes you make of things, it would be me." She felt such a surge of relief that she had to restrain herself from rushing over and showering his cheeks with kisses. But, being no longer an impulsive young witch, she swallowed to clear her throat and gave him a simple "thanks," tacking on more emotion to that single word than she could have mustered for an entire speech.

Williby, as always, only chuckled softly and closed the door with a nearly inaudible click. Making sure he had gone, she grabbed the small black pot of ash on her desk and, following what had now become standard protocol, ran to the fireplace in the corner of the room to call St. Mungo's and ask for the results. As the familiar face of the wizard manning the calls desk came into focus, Pansy drew a deep breath and she steeled herself for the worst.

* * *

It was no use. Neville was out of breath, sweating, and covered in dirt stains as he leaned his full weight against the hoe that was currently embedded into the now plant-free dark earth. The casualties of his war on the weeds were strewn all about the walkways, as well as copious amounts of the rich dirt he'd found underneath the needless layer of sand. If the pale sand had been an aesthetic choice, it had been a poor one.

Regardless, he'd erased all traces of it by instead transfiguring the copious amount of the gritty substance into a small greenhouse, just five feet by ten and just barely seven feet tall, which he placed near the southwestern corner. Inside, Neville had five tables; two on either side of the door, two against each side, and one at the very back. Taking a moment, he conjured up a small raincloud with a watering spell; it would water each seedling he placed in it at the intervals he inscribed on the table underneath their respective pots and trays.

The garden was now nearly barren, but looking at it, Neville was immensely proud of himself. It had only been two days since he had worked on the disastrous assignment and it was already near enough done for planting time. He was tired and smudged with dirt, the hoe he had used was bent almost irreparably, and dirt was heaped and spread willy-nilly. Thankfully, he murmured a few incantations which both cleaned the pathways and redistributed the soil evenly among the plots.

With a _scourgify_, he cleaned all of the dirt and sweat off of his clothes, then turned to head inside and nearly shouted in alarm at the sight of Williby standing there. The old man raised an eyebrow quizzically at the young wizard, who had clutched his chest and was gasping in shock. Gathering his composure, he awkwardly bowed his head and then smoothed his hair back. The butler smiled indulgently and beckoned Neville to come closer.

"You startled me, sir," he explained and gave a sheepish grin. Williby chuckled quietly.

"And you let Pansy sleep with you because you were lonely," he tisked at Neville, completely ignoring the fact that the young man was about to pass out from all the blood rushing away from his face and leaving him a bloodless looking cadaver, and continued on his tirade whilst walking in smallish circles around the gardener like a hawk. Or a vulture.

"Neville, you should have known better than to do something like that and no," he raised a hand, pausing mid-step, "I'm not a seer. I simply know a lot more about young people than most assume. I wasn't this old my entire life, you know." A hacking laugh followed abruptly.

"Did she-" Williby nearly glared at him.

"No, she didn't tell me. And in fact," the old man added, "it was my idea to come speak to you in first place." Neville let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "She feels terrible, you know," the old man smiled slightly at the man's wince, "for taking advantage of you." The butler's smile widened considerably at the dumbfounded expression that followed those last words.

"She took? What? No, no- I was the one who… Does she really think that little of me?" He went from confused to indignant to angry in less than three seconds. Neville felt like he was going to be sick. Williby looked surprised.

"Why would you think any different of her? After all, it couldn't have been done at all if one party were unwilling." He pressed a thin finger to his chin, thinking aloud, "So technically that makes you both the guilty person." The gardener nearly winced again; this old man was so intuitive and was piecing things together faster than Neville could have if he'd had a week to practice.

"What… what do you think I should do?" Williby sighed and shrugged his shoulders.

"Get to know her before bedding her, maybe? That way you'll know for sure how you'll feel afterwards." Pausing as he had nearly finished closing the garden doors, he spoke over his shoulder to the man who was reeling around from the exchange. "Oh, and apologize to her."

As the heavy doors shut, Neville Longbottom stood there blinking at the space the old wizard had occupied.

"But," his quiet words falling empty to the cold air, "I don't know what kind of flowers she likes…"

* * *

Williby paused, his back pressed against the cold hard wall in one of the hallways in the house. He could feel the air rattling around inside of him, almost as if it were shaking his bones. The old man ignored the sharp pinching in his chest and closed his eyes, laying his head back against the wall as well and drawing silent pleasure from the feel of its cool surface. Opening his eyes, he held his hands up to the light, inspecting them. They were starting to faintly glow—the fever finally started, just as the doctor had predicted. He whispered a word through his breath to the empty hall.

"Finally…"

* * *

Pansy threw the ornate pot against a wall, screaming and crying in her boiling rage. Hot tears streamed from her eyes and she clamped her mouth shut. Ashes from the fireplace were strewn across every surface imaginable, her hands and clothing included. Her hair had fallen out of place and her makeup was disastrous. The medi-witch had been unwilling to confide in Pansy the results of the test due to "confidentiality reasons" and had probably gotten the worst earful of her life from the elegant looking woman on the other end of the line.

But Pansy Parkinson was neither the daughter of fools nor a fool herself. She knew what it meant.

_He is dying._


	8. Step Eight: Discover a Hidden Passion

**Chapter Eight: Step Eight: Discover a Hidden Passion**

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* * *

**Neville sighed into the hair of the woman lying next to him, breathing in her scent as she curled an arm around his waist and snuggled closer. He smiled sleepily and raised himself up on one arm to look at her in the morning light streaming through the small window into the room. Hannah smiled back at him, his heart filling up with an overwhelming amount of tenderness as he leaned down to kiss her when he heard an odd sound. He frowned at the noise and turned to his wife.

"What is that noise?" She giggled softly and pointed at the door. Neville groaned and rolled out of bed, tugging one of the sheets with him and wrapping it around his waist. He opened the door to see... nothing.

"Hello?" He leaned out of the doorway into the cold air, looking for someone. He heard his wife laugh again and turned to go back to her inside.

Colin was in his place in the bed lifting big locks of Hannah's hair to his lips and kissing them, giving Neville a malicious smile. His wife looked at him with big doe eyes, her head tilted the way she had whenever he did or said something stupid.

"What," she said, "you didn't think I'd stay with you _forever_, did you?" The knocking at the door continued, louder. Hannah frowned at him and looked angry; Colin started to nuzzle at her neck and slid a hand around her, pulling her closer. She expression grew disgusted with him as the knocking grew louder.

"Good for nothing as always; can't even answer the door properly."

Neville jolted straight up out of his dream, slamming his forehead on the support beam his pillow had slid underneath while he'd tossed about in his sleep. The uneven thudding on the door continued, a low moan.

"What in bloody-" he pulled on a shirt and tugged his pajama pants into place. He stalked over to the door, growling; it couldn't be later than two in the morning and someone was slamming their fist against his door. He grabbed the handle and yanked it hard, feeling less than hospitable.

Draco Malfoy practically slid onto the floor, mumbling incoherently and clutching a nearly empty bottle of strong smelling liquid in a death grip with one hand. Neville let out a surprised cry and caught the man by the front of an expensive looking leather jacket. Malfoy's head wobbled unsteadily as he tried to reach for Neville with the hand still holding the bottle.

"Nev-nevvy... Nevillator," he snickered for a moment, then sobbed. The look on his face was heartbreaking, despite the horrid reek of booze. Neville shook him, half pulling him to his feet as Draco tried to slump again to the floor.

"Draco, it's nearly two in the morning, why are you _here_?" The blond clutched at his friend's chest and screwed his face up again, blinking bloodshot, watery eyes and trying to focus.

"Nevallile, she doesn't want me..."

* * *

Pansy rolled over onto her side again, delivering another vicious punch to her pillow. There wasn't any use trying to sleep, but she refused to give up and run to the servant's quarters like she had when she was younger. There wasn't anything she could do to help him and somehow Pansy doubted that being woken up at this god-awful hour to have accusations screamed into his ears would be any good for his failing health.

Oh god, and Neville! He was right, of course. Pansy had been an idiot to simply expect the man to roll over and let it lay. Yes, the brunette maid had answered, Master Williby did have a talk with Master Neville. Yes, they were agreeable in a way. No, she didn't know what had passed between them, but she'd heard from Elsa that Mitchell had overheard from someone else that...

Gossip wasn't any good and Williby would only smile pleasantly at her and ask her what she meant by "what did he say," and "Madam, I don't recall speaking with Master Neville." His way of 'pushing her out of the nest,' she supposed, although it was more like pushing her off of a cliff. What really kept her rolling around was how... how _stupid_ it all was.

_He's only a man, one man._

Pansy was, after all, a Parkinson. And Parkinson's never let their emotions rule over them. They stay level headed, even in the heat of the moment. So why was it so hard to keep from feeling... well, from feeling _everything_ over and over? She was sobbing with grief and frustration for Williby one moment, then nervous and almost giddy with anticipation over a man she hardly knew- it made her feel sick to her stomach to think of the way Neville would avoid her gaze or turn away from her, but she couldn't fit it together with everything else.

She kicked at the sheets with her feet and swung her feet over the edge of her bed, sitting there and glowering at the darkness. Obviously, something had to be done. And she was going to do it right now or else she'd never be able to rest.

* * *

"Draco, stop kicking your- ouch!" Neville grabbed at his nose, squeezing to staunch the flow of blood as tears welled up. "Dabbit Draco, holb still!" The drunk ceased his wiggling and gasped dramatically, eyes wide as he attempted sitting up in the large, comfortable chair that occupied one corner of the shed.

"M'sorry, sorry. Here!" Malfoy held up a wand, grinning triumphantly, and started to recite something when Neville, with wide eyes, clapped a hand over the wizard's mouth. Glaring hard at Draco, he snatched the weapon from him and set it a good distance away. He grabbed his own and waved it, mending his now only slightly bruised nose.

"Idiot," he hissed, "you could have blown this whole place up. Didn't the barman take away your wand like he should have?" Draco looked as indignant as a giggly-drunk could and made a few huffing noises.

"Din't go to a bar you- you pansy! Oh, oh right! You like Pansy," he smiled as he fell over onto his side. Neville finished pulling off Draco's one shoe. The other had landed somewhere in the shed and Neville was too tired to look for it at the moment. "Love, love. I love love, it's... lovely, isn't it?"

Neville disguised a laugh as a cough and pulled the other man to his feet. Draco, wobbling on his feet, looked at his clothes with a disgusted look on his face, then turned to Neville and leered at his friend suspiciously.

"Whu was that, huh? You don't- you don't like love? Love like too, that's good as well," he rambled. Neville helped him start taking off his shirt to change into bed clothes.

"No, I like love," he steadied Draco with one hand and undid buttons with the other, "love doesn't like me very much is all. Like doesn't either, for that matter." Draco gave him a disgustingly piteous look and started leaning too far to the left. Neville handed him a shirt and started to help him change his pants.

"I tell you man you're wrong. You're a good guy, Nev-nevikinamin. Good guys always are good in the end, always," Malfoy slurred and got his arms and head stuck in an awkward position inside of the shirt. Neville got the first leg on and started with the second.

* * *

Pansy walked quickly into the main garden, chiding herself inwardly for not grabbing a robe for the cold. She practiced what to say over in her head again, then decided it would come out stupid and mixed up anyways. As she neared the shed Neville had moved into, she saw a light on inside. She rubber her arms and tried to steel herself, standing in front of the door when she heard a girlish peal of giggles.

"Damn it, hold still!" Neville said from inside of the room. Pansy blanched as another ream of laughter filtered past the door.

_I should come back later,_ she thought, embarrassed.

_What if he's not doing what you think he is?_

_And what if he _is_?_

_He's a grown man, he can do whatever he wants to with other women.  
_  
_Yes, and there's nothing you can-_

She had turned away from the door, her face bruising with color as she hugged her arms, but at that instant Pansy whirled around and opened to door as wide as she could, slamming it open.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was wearing a pair of Neville's pajama pants and wriggling around inside of an overly large nightshirt. Neville was standing over him, trying to get him to hold still long enough to put the shirt on him properly before it was ripped when the door slammed open. He had disregarded it as the wind until Draco giggled again and pointed in an awkward manner towards the doorway.

"Oooooh," Draco put on an awed expression, "you're in trooouuublee!" The drunk turned his head sideways at what Pansy was wearing, smiled and added, "or maybe not!"

Pansy was standing in his doorway, clad in a very see-through purple nightgown fringed with white lace, and looking startled. Her shoulders and legs were bare and she looked absolutely freezing cold. Neville resisted the urge to gawk at her and instead pulled her inside and shut the door. They started to speak at the same time, then paused.

"What are you-"  
"What happened to-"

Pansy took the silence as a cue to start first.

"What is going on in here?" She gestured to Draco, who was now sprawled across the bed but was at last wearing the shirt the correct way and took the question as a reason to start singing lonely love songs out of key.

"All by myseeeeeelf-" Neville and Pansy ignored him. The large man avoided looking at her and flushed.

"Draco showed up about fifteen minutes ago, waking me up from- He says that Hermione kicked him out; I think they had a fight." Pansy swallowed a lump in her throat; he still didn't want to see her.

"Baby, come back-" Neville caught sight of one of her legs and couldn't help following its curve all the way up. An image of it wrapped around his body burned into his brain. He drew in a sharp breath and managed to disguise it as pain; he turned to throw a pillow in the direction of Draco's caterwauling.

"Did you want something, Pansy?" He tried to keep his voice level, to keep the thoughts in his mind from running into his voice, but it came out in a low growl. He could have smacked himself right there if he thought it would help any.

"Twoooo can be a bad as one-" Pansy set her mouth into a grim line. Now he was mad at her, great. _Well,_ she thought, _you would be too if he came running into your bedroom in the middle of the night wearing onl-_ She gasped out loud and snatched up a nearby pillow, trying to cover herself. She felt color latch itself onto her face again, and saw a look gleam in Neville's eye.

"I-I was here to talk to you about something and it's not important after all so," she was speaking rapidly as she inched towards the door, "I'll- I'll just see you in the morning then!" And with that, Pansy fled from the shed in the garden, taking the pillow with her.

"And I'm running out of places... Hey, where'd she go? Aw man," he lifted the pillow off of his face and gave Neville a pained expression. "I scared her away right, I'm sorry. You was gonna get lucky too, I'd bet money- I'd bet money on it." Neville grabbed one of Draco's feet and pulled him around so that he was laying straight on the bed.

"Go to sleep, Malfoy." Draco gave the ceiling a jerky salute and promptly fell asleep in Neville's bed. Neville pressed his forehead against his hand and swore at the throbbing pain that reminded him of his earlier meeting with the support beam. With a flick of his wand and a resigned sigh, the bed moved far enough away from his attacker so the same wouldn't happen to Draco. Hopefully, everything would be better in the morning-- including his bruises.

_

* * *

Well, that could have gone worse._

Pansy sighed as she threw herself back into the bed she'd rushed out of minutes ago. Frustrated, she blew a stray hair out of her face and tossed the stupid pillow across the room. She rolled over onto her back and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to relax. She kept hearing Neville's voice in her head, the strained tone she'd taken as hostility singing differently to her now. Her face turned red and she wished she could throw the pillow again; Parkinson's never jumped to conclusions, yet Neville Longbottom made her feel like she was on a trampoline.

_Or bungee jumping. Off of a bridge._

_Or a cliff._

Pansy clutched at the closest bundle of sheets and pressed her face into them, absolutely determined to get at least an hour's worth of sleep before she headed into the office to work.

_Well, you set out to do _something_, and something you did._

* * *

The man stood up to his full height to judge his appearance in the mirror. His suit was tailored expertly, and the grey pinstripes made a beautiful contrast to the black suit and his own dark complexion. He inspected his clean-shaved face and ran one large hand over the close cut of his dark, wiry hair. His eyes were bright enough, his teeth gleaming perfectly white against his lips- everything was giving off the impression he wanted: This is a Powerful Man.

Straightening his deep green tie and tugging his sleeves into place, he smiled in satisfaction. In the reflection, his smile took on a malicious aura. He would get what was his, he knew. And nothing could stop him this time.

Pansy Parkinson would be his.

* * *

**Author's Note: Ah, um... Hi. Been a while, hasn't it? Well, you've probably heard this before as an excuse but this time I swear it's the truth: I've been gone because my computer fried. Yup. Now, if you know me than you also know that I have the magical ability to utterly destroy any technology near me just by looking at it in a certian way. **

**Either way, that's all in the past [thanks to my wonderful boyfriend] and I'm writing again [thanks to Wonderfall's very creative death-threats. Really, a tire iron? I ask you.] so please resume badgering me via reviews to write more. [My beta shouldn't be the only one working this hard to keep me on my toes.]**

**In other news, the Big Bad is in the picture, eh? What do you think? I think he's spooky. ~Squeek  
**


	9. Step Nine: Redefine your Priorities

**Chapter Nine: Step Nine: Redefine your Priorities**

**

* * *

**

Tambleford Thaddeus Tanglishire was what you would call, a man of "simple" tastes. He wore the same drab style of robes for every formal occasion, business meeting, wedding, and funeral.

The only set that differed any were the ones he wore to bed, which he paired not with the shiny pair of brown loafers, but a set of overly stuffed, pink, fuzzy bath slippers he'd acquired from a muggle "carriage sale," or whatever you called it. They were strange enough, but the robes he matched with it was oddly patterned and unflattering; he was absolutely sure that if he had ever had a wife, she would have commented endlessly on his lack of style.

Nevertheless, he wore them unfailingly every night, slippers included, as he sat in a soft, threadbare chair near the fireplace in his study and sipped at lukewarm tea while reading or re-reading one of his many encyclopedias, algebra textbooks, or quarterly statements he had collected over the years. Yes, Mr. Tanglishire, head of the Expenses and Savings Department of Parkinson Wizarding Goods Inc. was indeed utterly and inescapably boring. He was old, had no ambitions, and wanted nothing more than to sit in his chair and read every evening until he fell asleep.

The night of October seventeenth was no exception to this drab routine as Tambleford opened the front door to his small, plainly decorated apartment, took off his shoes at the door and donned his large fluffy slippers. He absentmindedly waved at the kitchen, the tea kettle and assortments jumping into their regular routine as he walked into his bedroom and changed.

With a sigh of relief, he settled in his chair and pulled open the pages of Rafflewiffle's Magician's Encyclopedia, Thirteenth Edition, R-S. A merry fire leapt into life in the fireplace as the tea poured itself into a rather beat up tea cup; Mr. Tanglishire reached over and took a sip, then spluttered and set it down as the firelight flicked out.

"Oh for goodness sake," he mumbled and waved a hand, relighting the dark crevice. He pulled the book closer and darted his eyes around the familiar room. The fire vanished a second time and, even though he re lit it just as easily, Tambleford shivered in his chair. When the pipes in the ceiling hissed, he started a bit in his seat despite himself, then chuckled nervously.

"P-perhaps R through S is a bit heavy reading for tonight," he tittered to the empty room as he slapped the book shut. He stood from his chair to replace the tome on it's proper shelf. As he pushed it into place, the fireplace and all the lights winked out simultaneously, dropping the apartment into inky blackness. A small cry escaped his lips in surprise as he tried to command the light to come back. Fear leapt into his throat and he clutched at his robes with a hand.

The house remained dark, the fireplace only smoking feebly, but when Tambleford managed to coax a single light bulb to a mild glow, sweat gathered in his palms and he whimpered softly into the darkness. Incoherent whispers coming for several directions added to his terror and pressed him to the verge of panic.

"Who is it? Who is there?" His voice cracked slightly when he spoke, the whispers laughing quietly in response until all noise suddenly died. He heard the dull thud of a man's footstep and the rustle of fabric. The intruder stayed just out of range of the weary bulb's light; the old man strained his eyes to try and make out the figure standing in the darkness.

"It's nothing personal," the chilling baritone swept up rows of goose flesh along Tambleford's arms and neck, "it's just business." The man stepped into the circle of amber light, his dark skin making the malicious gleam of his smile seem whiter, wand raised. The smell of rosewood and camphor filled the old man's nostrils.

"W-who are you? What are you doing in my home?" Tanglishire's voice raised pitch with every word, some part of his brain commanding him to run yet his legs refusing to respond. "What do you want?"

"Ah," the man smirked and made an elegant gesture with his free arm, bowing slightly, "I want you to _suffer_." A blinding flash of pain and the taste of blood filled Tambleford Thaddeus Tanglishire's senses as he crumpled onto the floor. The man's cruel laughter filtered through his consciousness as a weak moan escaped his lips.

After several hours, he stepped carelessly over the old wizard, curled and weeping on the floor, and inspected his attire in the reflection of the glass on his victim's book case. Satisfied with what he saw, he turned to leave through the front door. The old man reached out and clung to the leg of his pants, but whimpered and let go at the disgust on the younger man's face.

"What? What is it?" he snarled. Tanglishire flinched and raised his arms to cover his face from view.

"M-master, why are you leaving?" he sobbed into his hands, then reached for him again, but stopped short, cringing. "Don't leave me, master! I'll serve you, I promise, j-just don't go!" The unwavering subservience in the older man's voice made a twisting smile creep onto his face. He turned to look out the door and, seeing the sky beginning to lighten through the entry of the hallway, opened it and stepped outside. He turned back to the figure that had begun weeping again and calling for him to come back and not to leave him there alone.

"Yes," his servant quieted immediately at the sound of his voice, "you will serve me." Tanglishire scrambled and clutched the hem of his pants, kissing them and trembling anew.

"W-what shall I do, master?" He looked up and the dark man with adoration. The man smiled again, a vicious gleam in his eyes.

"You will tell them... everything," he leaned closer and spoke in an almost confidential tone, "tell them what I did to you, tell them what I will do to them... and you will tell _her_ that I am coming." His slave looked bewildered and began groveling again, wriggling uncomfortably on the floor.

"B-but, master, who should I tell? There are so many people..." He whined and began begging for forgiveness at the look on his master's face. He spat his response and slammed the door behind him as he stepped into the hallway, striking the old wizard in the face with it.

* * *

Pansy shifted uncomfortably in her office chair, scowling at the statements in front of her as she heard the creak of the door opening. Her eyes flicked up and she smiled briefly as Williby shut the door behind himself and walked to his customary seat, but frowned when she remembered to be angry with him.

"Good morning,Madam," he said cheerily. She grunted a response and wrote some figures on a scrap of paper. He sat there, looking merry and biding his time until she finally slapped the pencil down onto the desk.

"What?" she snarled. He pretended shock and she glared at him. Williby smiled and she felt her features soften. Almost.

"Yes," he said in almost a sing-song voice, "I am dying at last." She refused to look sad and instead turned back to her papers.

"Don't have to be so bloody cheery about it," she grumbled. He stood up and walked over to her side of the desk, ignoring the indignant expression she put on.

She frowned again and opened her mouth to protest as he leaned over and gathered her into a hug. Her eyes filled with tears, more crying, as she felt the heat of his fever almost scalding her through their clothes. He was careful not to touch her with his bare skin and instead of kissing her cheek as he had when she was younger, Williby merely patted her back with a clothed wrist and then pulled away.

"Now now," he said, seemingly chipper, "if anyone should be happy for me, it's you, dear." She prentended not to hear, but when she looked back to her papers, the words and numbers blurred. Pansy nodded only slightly, not trusting her voice, and didn't look up to see if that was enough. She heard him sigh and caught a glimpse of a weary smile through her lashes before he turned away and headed back towards the door.

"You know," he said over his shoulder, "in all of my many, many years I have never met someone more gracefully stubborn than you are, Madam." She looked up to see the door click softly closed and allowed herself a small smile as a tear rolled down her cheek.

"I'll miss you though," she said quietly to the empty room as she wiped at her face with the back of her hand.

* * *

Neville snorted and started upright in his chair. The delicious smell of bacon and eggs filled the room, and he looked around to find the source of the accosting aromas.

"Well, well, well! Good morning there, Longbottom." Draco was standing next to a stove that Neville didn't remember transfiguring, as bright and chipper as he'd ever seen someone who'd downed a bathtub's worth of alcohol the night before. In response to the cheery greeting, he groaned and threw the blanket over his head. Malfoy laughed as he had the blanket pulled away and through the air to a far corner of the room with a flick of his wand. "Wakey, wakey. Eggs and bakey!"

"What?" Neville blinked at him, still half-asleep. "Oh," he grunted, "you made breakfast, right?" Draco confirmed it and practically threw him a plate. He ate quickly and grunted thanks. The eggs were burnt slightly, but he decided not to mention it.

"I didn't know you could cook, Draco," he frowned, "but you didn't have to." The blond looked insulted and gasped dramatically, then flashed a wide smile.

"Mostly I learned because Hermione wouldn't leave me alone about it," he flopped down onto the bed, laying on his side and adopting a falsetto and perching a hand on his chest, "'Cooking is an art; using magic makes it lose its meaning.'" Neville coughed and hid a smile; that sounded like something the woman would say.

"Also, though," Draco picked at invisible lint on his shirt, "it's a thank you."

"Eh? What for?" Neville felt his brows come together. Draco laughed out loud at the expression that graced the gardener's face.

"Because," he took on an exaggerated tone,"if some bloke had shown up at my door at one-or-two-something in the bloody morning, probably singing some bloody awful song and stinking of enough alcohol to land a dragon, I would have- Well, let's just say I wouldn't have let him borrow my jammies." Neville looked for something to chuck, but came up empty handed and settled for a sardonic look. He opened his mouth to say something when there was a soft knock at the door next to his chair.

* * *

One of the sleek, bored looking owls her company used was tapping impatiently at the window. Pansy pushed herself up from the work piled on her desk and walked quickly over to open it. The bird dropped the letter into her hand and yawned as she scratched a proffered spot on its neck and deftly opened the sealed envelope. She quickly read the missive, then narrowed her eyes and read it again.

"_'Dear Miss Parkinson, there is an incident taking place at the office and your presence, though not necessary, is requested immediately.  
Head of Security and Safety Measures, Jenice M. Radlin'_ "

Pansy swore under her breath, the owl giving her a wry look. She called in one of the maids, and told her to inform everyone that she was to be gone for a few hours to attend to an emergency regarding the company and to hold lunch for her until she returned. The owl was still pecking at the food and water that had been set out when she apparated with a loud crack.

* * *

"Come in," Draco chimed before Neville could answer. The brunette shot his guest a look as the door opened that quickly turned into a smile.

"Williby! What are you doing out here... wearing that?" Draco interrupted Neville before he'd had a chance to speak again, and this time Neville threw the blanket he'd been using. Then he turned and got a good look at the man. He was wearing what looked like a too thin cloak over a set of early summer robes. Heat radiated from the old man standing there, making Neville sweat.

_What in the-_

"Master Neville," he paused and added, "and Master Draco, of course, I have come here only to say goodbye." Draco mimicked his host's unabashed puzzlement. Neville reached out to touch him and drew his hand away with a short cry. The tips of his fingers were burned pink and raw. The air around him wavered. Draco gasped and took a step backwards. Williby smiled sadly at both of them and then left, the door closing swiftly behind him. Neville and Malfoy stared at each other, disbelieving.

"I know what he's dying from!" The blond spoke in a whisper, voice full of awe and his eyes wide. Neville somehow managed to keep his mouth from hanging open.

* * *

Pansy heard the satisfying click of her high heels echo off of the floor as she walked towards the tall red headed woman wearing a security uniform that concealed all of her well-toned body but her wiry muscled arms that were crossed in front of her chest. She quickly stood up straight from her slouching position as soon as she recognized Pansy and greeted her with a clipped, low voice.

"Good morning, Madam," the security chief repressed the urge to salute. Pansy nodded, returning the greeting silently.

"Mrs. Radlin, may I ask you what occurred here that I had to be summoned?" She dropped the tone of her voice in such a way that let the other woman know she was not in trouble. Jenice had been the former captain of Pansy's Quidditch team, and it showed in the way she handled her staff. The taller woman pursed her lips.

"I think you need to see for yourself, ma'am," her mouth turned down into a frown of uneasiness. Pansy almost pinched the bridge of her nose but instead sighed quietly.

"Just tell me what's going on," she said evenly, drawing a deep, calming breath.  
_  
No point in getting hysterical over something sma-_

The head of security swallowed visibly and raised a hand helplessly in the direction of a stretcher being carried past by two orderlies wearing St. Mungo's uniforms. The figure on it was writhing and yelling incoherently; Pansy gasped, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth when she recognized him as one of her Board Members.

The man pushed against the restraints, glassy eyes bulging out and his hair matted; he didn't seem to take notice of anything until the orderlies passed right next to her. His gaze focused on her and he snatched a hand out, grabbing roughly onto her wrist and wrenching a cry from Pansy as he pulled her forward.

"My master, he is coming for you; he hurt me, he told me to tell them," he swung back and forth from sobbing to hissing, then he started yelling, loud enough that his voice bounced off of the walls,"He is coming for all of you! You'll see!" His voice quieted back to a whisper, so quiet that Pansy would have missed it if he hadn't still been holding her close. He started to weep.

"I've done as you asked, master. I was good... Please, let me die? Let me die!" He started to wail and beg, pulling against the restraints with renewed fervor. Pansy felt the unfamiliar jolt of nausea wrench in her gut. One of the burly men had managed to pry Tanglishire's hand off of her wrist and she stood there, rubbing it. She felt a sweeping chill raise the hair on her arms and neck; as Jenice asked her if she was all right, she nodded and shivered once more. Her eyes followed the tortured creature through the glass doors, watching in silence as the ambulance swiftly drove away. She shuddered, collecting herself and turned to question Radlin.

_Well, hysterics never solved anything anyways. _

_

* * *

_**Author's Note: Dun, dun, dun! Cliffhanger? Eh, maybe kinda sorta.  
**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything that J. K. Rowling has created.  
**


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